


Or maybe there's plenty of time

by Liilaac



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Humor, Anxiety Attacks, Best Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Memory Loss, Multi, No Major Character Death, No Smut, Patty being the mom friend but lowkey a child, Pre-IT Chapter Two (2019), Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Richie Tozier Vomits, Richie and Stan's friendship, Richie/Stan/Patty being cuties, Smoking, Stan Uris being a goof, Suicide Attempt, Unspoken Bond, and Richie being an awkward bisexual mess as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liilaac/pseuds/Liilaac
Summary: In the evening, his mother calls to check up on him. They talk for a while, about nothing in particular. Before hanging up, he finds the strength to ask, “Hey Mom... Back in Derry, did we know anyone named Uris?”It takes a few seconds for his mother to answer. Richie’s parents left Derry a few years after he did. He can almost hear the gears turning in her head through the phone, and his migraine seems to come back. Finally, she almost whispers, “Yes, yes. The Urises. I haven’t thought about them in years! You were good friends with their boy, Stanley, weren’t you? He was always coming over. What a polite young man he was! I remember him now, yes.”On the other end of the line, Richie is silent. He’s sure his face is as white as a sheet. And his head is throbbing from the migraine that crept back into his skull. He tastes bile in the back of his throat and can barely whisper a shaky little, “Thanks Mom, I’ll call you back tomorrow,” before hanging up and running to the bathroom.The Losers.How could he have forgotten about the Losers?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Patricia Blum Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57





	Or maybe there's plenty of time

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone and welcome to my 80 pages long obsession with Richie and Stan's friendship! I've been working on this for the last four months and I've had so much fun and discoveries while writing this. I hope someone will be crazy enough about those boys to read this, lol. 
> 
> May I also suggest you take a look at the Pinterest board I made for this fic? Here it is: https://pin.it/13MXmcG ! 
> 
> Also big thanks to Katie, Pema, Sophia and Kore for reading over it and helping me with this whole crazy process. And obviously everyone else on that crazy server that had to listen through my ramblings about this fic ahahah.

I.

Richie has been waiting in this boring lobby for a painfully long time. Seriously, for a famous TV station, he would’ve thought that their office would be more fun. The receptionist told him that it would “just be a few more minutes” twice already, and he decides that if she says it one more time, he’ll leave. He’s hungover and waiting in this shitty lobby is the last thing he wants to do; he wouldn’t even be here if his manager hadn’t dragged him out of bed.

“Hi, I’m here to see Mr. O’Cain. I have an appointment.”

Richie hadn’t even seen the man enter the empty lobby, too busy dealing with his spiraling thoughts and his stomachache.

“Sure. Can I get your name, please?”

“Stanley Uris.” For some reason, this man’s name stirs something in Richie, and he looks up. The stranger continues, “Mister O’Cain is expecting me; I flew in from Atlanta this morning.”

The receptionist takes her phone and repeats the name the man just gave. _Stanley Uris._ There’s a pause. Finally, she goes, “Mister O’Cain is finishing a meeting. He’ll be with you in just a few minutes, Mister Uris.”

“Alright. Thank you,” he nods politely.

When he turns around, Richie can’t help but stare at him. There’s something in the stranger’s voice that intrigued him. He barely notices Richie before sitting down a few seats from him, though. But Richie just can’t let it go; he shifts in his chair to try and get a better look at the clean-cut man. Does Richie find him attractive? Is that it? He is quite handsome... But there’s something else.

Before he can put his finger on it, a tiny man enters the lobby and the stranger stands up.

“Stanley, sorry for the delay.” They shake hands. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hi Donald, no worries. Shall we?”

And they start heading towards the elevators. Richie could swear the stranger turns around to smile at him before leaving. Or maybe it’s just his hangover making him see stuff; wouldn’t be the first time.

After a while, the guy Richie’s supposed to see (he forgot his name… not that he really listened to it, to begin with) meets him in the lobby. They go up to his office, and without really knowing why, Richie’s distracted during the whole appointment.

————

II.

Richie’s sitting outside a little coffee shop with his manager. It’s quite windy, but he insisted. He needed a cigarette. She’s talking about the audition he had a few days ago; apparently, they loved him. He’s too distracted to listen to her. He’s had a headache for the last few days, and it’s driving him crazy.

His mind suddenly focuses on a little bird standing on a table next to theirs. It’s eating bread crumbs, and Richie smiles at it. He’s almost appeased by its chirping. He doesn’t know how he would know this, but he’s almost sure that this little bird is a tufted titmouse. The name makes him laugh, and maybe that’s why he remembers it. There’s a little voice in the back of his mind that tells him the name; the voice isn’t his, though. Trying to find who the voice belongs to makes his headache worse, so he stops. When he looks back, the bird is gone.

————

III.

Over the next few days, his headache gets even worse. It feels like something, _someone_ , is banging on his skull 24/7, trying to enter his brain, his thoughts. He stays in his apartment and closes the curtains because the light is too bright. The only thing he’s able to do is read old comics he had stashed in one of his drawers and eat the takeout food he orders.

One night, while he’s lying in bed and his head is preventing him from falling asleep, he takes out his laptop and starts googling random things, starting with his name. He continues with the name of the TV station that recently hired him, and their CEO. Suddenly, another name pops into his head. _Stanley Uris._ He can’t help but google it. He’s not even sure from where he remembers it; he has to wait for a picture to pop up to recognize that the name belongs to the man he met in the lobby. He’s an accountant, apparently. Richie thinks he looks too good to be an accountant, but whatever. _Stanley Uris._ Why can’t he look away from the page? Then, just like that, he sees something that makes his blood run cold. He’s going through this _Stanley Uris’s_ profile on his accounting firm’s website when he reads: “Stanley Uris is from the small town of Derry, in Maine.” His breath catches in his throat and he barely makes it to the bathroom; he pukes as soon as he’s over the toilet.

When he can finally stand up again, he strips down and takes a shower (he hasn’t taken one in days). When he feels clean enough, he brushes his teeth and goes back to bed without looking at his computer again. His head is throbbing with memories that don't feel like his... He reaches into his bedside table to take a sleeping pill and quickly falls into what he thinks will be a dreamless sleep. Yet, when he wakes up, he swears he saw that little bird again… and maybe even heard that voice, asking him to come home… 

————

IV.

His migraine is still there, but it’s quieter. His brain feels sore the way muscles do after a good workout, but the point is that he feels slightly better. Maybe he just needed to puke. He tries not to think about it anymore… and he succeeds, for a while. When he has to open his computer to check his email, Stanley Uris’s face greets him and it all comes rushing back. _He knows him._ He must, right? Derry isn’t that big of a town and, according to his profile, they’re almost the same age! That must be why Richie couldn’t help but stare at the stranger; he must’ve remembered him from when they were kids... He sees Stanley’s email at the top of the page and, for a second, he almost wants to send him something. But what would he say? _Hey, I think I know you, but I don’t really remember from where. Wanna meet up?_ That would be ridiculous. He decides to close the website.

In the evening, his mother calls to check up on him. They talk for a while, about nothing in particular. Before hanging up, he finds the strength to ask, “Hey Mom... Back in Derry, did we know anyone named Uris?”

It takes a few seconds for his mother to answer. Richie’s parents left Derry a few years after he did. He can almost hear the gears turning in her head through the phone, and his migraine seems to come back. Finally, she almost whispers, “Yes, yes. The Urises. I haven’t thought about them in years! You were good friends with their boy, Stanley, weren’t you? He was always coming over. What a polite young man he was! I remember him now, yes.”

And, suddenly, it’s like Maggie Tozier can’t stop talking. She tells her son about Stanley Uris’ bar-mitzvah and about all the times he would come over to play with Richie. But he wasn’t alone though, was he? Maggie remembers a cute and nervous little kid, whose mother was a real nightmare, and that boy with a stutter whose brother went missing when they were so young... She sounds like she’s almost tearing up, telling story after story and wondering out loud how she could have forgotten all about these things! On the other end of the line, Richie is silent. He’s sure his face is as white as a sheet. And his head is throbbing from the migraine that crept back into his skull. He tastes bile in the back of his throat and can barely whisper a shaky little, “Thanks Mom, I’ll call you back tomorrow,” before hanging up and running to the bathroom again.

_The Losers._

How could he have forgotten about the Losers?

————

V.

When he feels good enough to talk, he calls his manager to tell her that he’s been sick and that he has to stay in bed for a few more days. She asks questions, of course, but he does his best to avoid them and it surprisingly works.

He doesn’t know how he could’ve forgotten his childhood friends. He can’t stop thinking about them now, memories coming back to him in weird and uneven chunks. He remembers a broken arm, red hair, shower caps, and many more strange details that don’t seem to make any sense. He remembers Stanley, most of all. He’s almost clear in his mind, with his curly hair and ironed shirts. His mom is right; he was a polite young man! And Richie knows something happened to them, but he just can’t put his finger on it. It drives him so crazy he almost can’t sleep anymore. It’s like his own memories are haunting him, taunting him.

He needs to get to the bottom of it, and he thinks talking to Stanley will do the trick. He wants to send him an email, but somehow he always freezes when he has to hit send. He feels ridiculous. This is just some stupid obsession about his childhood he barely remembers. But who really remembers their childhood anyway? Richie knows most people just build memories from stories they hear about it, and Richie just hasn’t bothered to do that. So he pushes it all down (as he usually does), takes a painkiller for his migraine, and decides to forget about it. Or, at least to try...

————

VI.

He has a few gigs that week and his manager has been harassing him, so he forces himself to go. He hasn’t been working on new stuff lately, so he’ll just have to do one of the usual routines. He hates performing with material he hasn’t written, but it’ll have to do. 

His first two shows go fine. Nothing to write home about, but people are clapping and that’s good enough for him. But, on his third show of the week, the headaches he had been sedating with painkillers and booze come back in painful waves, overpowering his entire body and making him so weak he can barely stand on the stage. His knees wobble under him and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. The crowd in front of him has been cheering since he came on the stage, but the applause slowly starts fading. Richie doesn’t know if it’s because people stop clapping or if his heartbeat is just getting too loud. When he finally thinks he mustered enough strength to start talking, he can barely get a word out before falling down. 

He opens his eyes again and he’s in his apartment. The room is dark, but the lights from the street are filtered through his blinds and allow him to see where he is. The door to his bedroom is slightly open and he hears Sally, his manager, talking in the living room. He doesn’t hear another voice, she must be on the phone. 

“Thank god you’re awake,” she says when she enters the room. She’s talking and walking too fast and Richie has to close his eyes again so his brain doesn’t melt. “We called an ambulance but it was nothing serious. You didn’t hit your head or anything. You’re lucky, you know that? Probably just that cocktail of pills and alcohol mixed with your anxiety, you dumbass. Do you want me to have a heart attack, huh? Is that it?”

Richie apologizes and she continues to lecture him for a few minutes. He likes Sally; she doesn’t take any of his shit. She brings him a glass of water, and a sandwich. She says he needs some rest and she can stay if he needs her to, but he declines her offer. It’s Saturday evening (maybe even the first few hours of Sunday morning) and he doesn’t have another show until the end of next week. _Thank god._

Once Sally’s gone, Richie goes to the bathroom to wash his face; he looks like shit. Everything spins around him. When he goes back to his bed, he takes his computer and quickly types : 

« Hi Stanley, 

My name is Richie Tozier. You might not remember me, but I think we used to be friends or something. Like, when we were kids. 

I know this must sound sketchy as fuck, but I’d really like to chat with you… if that’s okay. »

He adds his phone number at the end of his email and, without even realizing that it’s past 2am, clicks send without thinking about it twice. He falls asleep right after. 

———— 

VII.

In the morning, he takes a long time to wake up completely. The previous night is a blur. He doesn’t remember sending an email to Stan, but he’s greeted with an answer when he turns his phone on : 

« Hey Richie. 

Yeah, I remember you. I’ve actually been trying to reach you too. I was at your show yesterday, I hope you’re feeling better. 

I would love to chat with you. Seems like we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. » 

Richie has to read it multiple times for it to start making sense. _Stanley Uris remembers him_? Stanley Uris was at his show? The whole thing feels like a fever dream. He closes his computer and decides to go make himself a cup of coffee before anything else… 

When he returns to his room, he reads the email again and saves Stanley’s number in his phone. He writes, “you were at my show yesterday?” and deletes it. Finally, he settles on, “Hi Stanley. It’s Richie” and sends it. It only takes a few minutes for Stanley to answer and to ask him how he’s doing since the abrupt end of his show. 

Richie - im doing okay, thanks for asking 

Richie - so you were trying to reach me too?

Stanley - Yes, that’s why I came to your show. You’re not easy to reach. 

Richie - that’s showbiz baby! 

Stanley - Yeah, I figured. 

Richie - so you wanna meet up? when are you free? 

Stanley - Sadly, I flew back to Atlanta this morning. Maybe I could call you? 

Richie thinks about it, but he just feels too weird calling Stanley. He’s already awkward on the phone when he has to talk to people he sees on the daily, so he can’t imagine what _that_ phone call would be like… Plus, he really feels like he has to see Stanley. Without even thinking, he checks the flights for Atlanta. 

Richie - this might sound crazy, but i can be in Atlanta tomorrow if that works for you 

Stanley - Shit, really? Yes, I could make that work. That’d be great! 

In just a few minutes, Richie has booked a seat on a plane and a room in a crappy hotel. He doesn’t know why he’s so determined, why it feels so relieving to talk to Stanley… But he decides to just trust his instincts on this one. They make plans to meet for lunch the next day, Stanley sends him an address. 

Stanley - Looking forward to seeing you, Richie. 

Richie - yeah, me too. see you soon, stan 

Stanley - :) 

————

VIII.

Richie stops in front of the restaurant where they were supposed to meet. Stanley’s already here, sitting at a table in his perfectly ironed shirt. He’s not even looking at his phone like a normal person would. He’s looking out the window he’s sitting next to, a shy smile on his face. Richie stares at him from outside the restaurant. A shiver goes down his spine. 

When Stanley spots him (and it’s not that hard since he sticks out like a sore thumb with his loud Hawaiian shirt and his tired face), something flashes behind his eyes. He smiles, stands up to shake Richie’s hand. It ends up being a hug because apparently, Richie can’t help himself from pulling Stanley into a tight embrace. It doesn’t seem to bother him though, his hands going up and down Richie’s back as if they’ve known each other forever (and that might actually be kind of true). 

“Hey, Stan the man,” Richie grins, before nervously adding, “Sorry, I don’t know why I just called you that.” 

“I think you used to... when we were kids.” 

“Did I?” 

Stanley nods. They sit down. It’s silent for a few seconds; they’re both scanning each other’s faces. Richie doesn’t know where to start… 

“So,” Stanley awkwardly begins, “it’s been a while, huh?” 

“Sure has.” 

“You’re famous!” 

“And you’re… an accountant.” 

Stanley rolls his eyes at Richie’s embarrassed smile and suddenly it hits him. He remembers being the class clown, remembers his friend Stan rolling his eyes at half of his jokes. Other random things seem to pop up from the depths of his memory; a sleepover they had for Richie’s 16th birthday, a summer camp they went to together, the first high school party they went to with actual alcohol… When he looks back at Stanley, it doesn’t feel like he’s looking at a stranger anymore. 

The waiter comes by, they order their food, and things seem to go by so easily all of the sudden. Stan tells Richie about his wife, Patricia; he even shows him pictures of their wedding. Richie teases him about the fact that he has an album titled “Wedding 🕊” in his gallery. Stan rolls his eyes again and it makes Richie giggle like a little kid. His heart could leap right out of his chest from how fast it’s beating; he wonders how he hadn’t realized how much he missed Stan. 

Without really noticing that he’s talking out loud, Richie lets out a shy, “I missed you, man.” 

Stan stops eating, a soft smile curving his lips as he swallows his food and dabs at his lips with his napkin. He looks Richie right in the eyes. Stanley clears his throat, swallows again. “Yeah, I missed you too, Rich.” 

They both chuckle a bit awkwardly for a few seconds, and then the conversation continues effortlessly. Richie talks about his show, and it’s like Stan can see right through him, can see how Richie hates performing stuff he didn’t write. He doesn’t say anything though, he just nods politely and says he’s happy for Richie, that he deserves it. When he tells Stan about his latest audition, he remembers that’s actually where he bumped into him. _Or, rather, where he stared at him for five minutes straight like a psychopath._ Stanley shakes his head vigorously while swallowing his sip of water. 

“Yeah, I remember that. I saw you too and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it afterward,” he says. Richie wants to make a trashy joke about how Stanley’s totally in love with him, but he miraculously stops himself. Stan continues, “I just couldn’t help but feel like I knew you. And then I saw a poster for your show, and your name just brought everything back. Richie fucking Tozier… And I’ve had the craziest migraine since then; it probably has nothing to do with—“ 

“I’ve had headaches too,” Richie interrupts, wide-eyed. It feels like too much of a coincidence to be nothing. Stan’s forehead creases and his smile slips. Richie wonders, “Stan… Did you— hm. Did you remember me at all before we saw each other in that lobby?” 

“You didn’t remember me either, right?” Stan answers with a worried look. They both shake their head and, even if it’s strange to admit, Richie’s kind of relieved. He thought he was being crazy and seeing Stanley just as confused as him is kind of comforting. 

The waiter brings them the check and they move on. When they leave the restaurant, Stanley insists on walking Richie to his hotel. He has to work in the afternoon, but he took his Tuesday off and suggests that they spend it together. Richie agrees; he doesn’t have anything to do until Friday anyway. Stanley says he’ll ask Patricia if she can cook dinner for them, he’d love to introduce them. Richie nods again. 

Stan’s the one who pulls Richie in for a hug once they reach his hotel. It’s barely 2pm, but Richie is absolutely exhausted. Thinking about his childhood tired him more than he thought it would… He can’t wait to lay on the uncomfortable bed of his room. 

“I’ll text you the details, alright?” 

“Sure. See you tomorrow, Stan.”

“Yeah, see you soon, Trashmouth,” Stanley grins, a little too proud of himself. Richie feels his heartbeat pick up at the nickname. He pushes Stan away with a chuckle; it feels like nothing has ever changed. 

————

IX.

The next day, Richie wakes up with someone banging on his bedroom door. When he opens it, he’s greeted with Stan’s slightly annoyed face. He’s wearing a cardigan and Richie’s first thought is to make fun of him for it, but Stan beats him to it : 

“Nice underwear, Rich.” 

Looking down at his Spider-Man boxers, Richie can’t help but laugh as well. “Fuck off, grandpa,” he strikes back. Stanley chuckles and follows Richie into his room. 

“Didn’t we say we would meet at 9am in the lobby of your hotel?” 

“Shit, what time is it?” 

“Almost ten.” 

Richie gets dressed in front of Stan (who sighs and turns around while Richie says he has nothing to hide from his old pal), quickly brushes his teeth, and follows him out the door. He’s wearing the same clothes he did the day before because, quite frankly, they’re all he bothered to pack. 

They start their day with breakfast at a little café Stan seems to know pretty well; he greets one of the waiters by his name. Richie doesn’t complain though, because their pancakes are delicious. 

“By the way,” Stan starts while finishing his mouthful of scrambled eggs, “I talked to Patty and you’re more than welcome to eat at our place tonight.” 

“Awesome, I can't wait to meet the woman who whisked you off your feet!” 

Of course, Stanley rolls his eyes at that comment… But there’s a soft smile on the corners of his lips. Richie pays for the breakfast to thank him for the invitation. 

After that, Stan takes him to his firm, shows him around his favorite neighborhoods. The neatness of Stanley’s office brings back even more memories. Richie remembers how tidy Stan’s room always was, how he used to arrange his books and comics by alphabetical order. Richie used to mess with him by moving a few things around his room, but Stan would notice it right away. It became a game within their group. Whenever they were hanging out at Stan’s house, they would all move something, and if Stan didn’t notice one of the changes, the person who made it would win. Richie can’t really put faces on the other people in his memories, though… 

After getting a quick bite at a food truck, Stan takes Richie to the World of Coca-Cola. He’s ecstatic. They taste hundreds of sodas and Richie tries to convince Stan to compete in a burping contest. Stan rolls his eyes and declines, yet he can’t help but to chuckle when Richie burps so loudly, numerous people turn around to look at him. He bows at his shocked audience and Stan has to hide his face in his hands from how hard he’s blushing. 

After the longest pee break of Richie’s life, he insists on going to the Aquarium that’s nearby. 

“Look, Stan, you’re a bird lover, right? Well, I’m the same way with fishes. Have you seen their little faces? They always look so shocked, they crack me up. Come on, please!” 

“I can’t believe you’re comparing my deep passion for birds to your sudden appreciation of fishes! Name three fishes and we’ll go.” 

Richie’s forehead creases while he thinks. “There’s that fish from the kids’ movie… Nemo. Right, okay, that’s one.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and puts his glasses back in place. “Well there’s koi fishes, right? Like, the big ones in ponds that go like this,” and Richie gives his best impression of a koi fish (but really, it could be any damn fish in the universe). It makes Stan chuckle again. “And, finally, that other fish from Nemo. The blue one.” Richie looks really proud of himself. 

“Clownfish, trout, catfish, bass, salmon, barracuda, lionfish,” Stan starts listing, a smug grin on his lips. For once, Richie’s the one who’s rolling his eyes. “Should I continue?” 

“Alright, we got it, Stan the man! You’re a bird AND a fish freak. Let’s go to the aquarium now.” 

And Stan just can’t say no, so they go. Richie spends the first half an hour giving names to every fish they see, while Stan giggles behind him. Finally, he joins in on the fun. 

“Come on Stanley, what about that blue fish with the big lips, huh ?” 

“I don’t know, Rich. Natasha, maybe? Yeah, she looks like a Natasha.” 

And Richie’s wheezing behind him, attracting everyone’s attention. They couldn’t care less, though. And, even if Richie argues that the fish does _not_ look like a Natasha and that he’s clearly a Markus, he can’t remember the last time he had this much fun. 

When they reach the kid section of the aquarium, there’s an open tank where children can pet stingrays and starfishes. Of course, Richie leaps into the crowd to put both his hands in the water. Stan watches from afar, smiling awkwardly at parents who stare at the tall and gangly man in a Hawaiian shirt who’s maybe more excited than all the children around him. 

“STAN,” Richie almost shouts in the rather small room, “come pet this little guy with me.” 

Stan declines but, after a few more screams from Richie, he decides to join him, purely to shut him up. The “little guy” Richie was talking about is a small stingray swimming from one end of the tank to the other. Richie does his best to follow it around, his fingers desperately trying to stay on top of the animal’s smooth back. Stan notices a panel with the few fishes in the demonstration tank and their respective names. 

“Hey, Rich, you don’t have to give a name to that one! Look, it’s called Stinga.” 

Richie’s look of pure disbelief almost startles Stan. “Stinga? Excuse me?” Richie shakes his head and pets the little stingray again. “No, I shall call that cutie… _Steve_.” 

Stan chuckles until recognition downs on him. “Trashmouth, is that… Is that for Steve Irwin?” 

“Who?” 

“Steve Irwin. He’s a wildlife expert who died because of a stingray…” 

“Oh,” Richie breathes, pressing his lips together in a tight line. “Well, that got dark. Let’s just call him Jonathan or something.” 

After a few more minutes, one of the staff members has to ask Richie to leave because “other kids want to pet the fishes too”. Stan drags Richie behind him before he can start making a scene. Richie puts his wrinkled fingers just in front of Stan’s face, and he smacks his hand away before Richie can make a joke about how his fingertips look like Stan’s balls. 

They leave after taking some pictures in front of a green screen. Richie’s doing his best impression of a fish again (the awesome blue and green fish pattern Hawaiian shirt he bought at the gift store messily put on top of his own dirty shirt), and Stan is standing awkwardly next to him, his lips stretched from ear to ear in a sincere and spontaneous smile. When Richie downloads the picture to his phone, he swears he can see the kids, the friends, that they used to be… that they still are, deep down. 

————

X.

They’re walking back to Richie’s hotel and Richie says he’ll need a nap before coming to dinner. The hotel beds aren’t the nicest, but they’ve been running around all day, and “I’m an old man, for God’s sake!” 

Stan stays quiet for a second and stops walking. His hands are in his pockets and he swings on the heels of his shoes, almost shyly. Finally, when Richie raises his brows, he offers, “Richie, would you maybe want to stay at our place? We’ve got a guest room and, to be honest, I’m not sure you’ll get out of that hotel alive. It straight up looks like Bates Motel!” 

“Obscure movie reference aside,” Stan rolls his eyes and starts to argue that Psycho is _not_ an obscure reference, but Richie continues anyway, “Stan, are you sure? You’ve already done so much. I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You weren’t worried about _that_ when I was trying to seduce that girl at Greta Bowie’s party junior year and you kept cockblocking me, though,” Stan grins. Richie smiles as the memory comes back to him. It wasn’t rivalry; he didn’t care about that girl at all. But all of his friends were together and he just couldn’t bear the thought of Stan leaving without him. 

“I have to say, Staniel,” Richie starts in a deep and falsely sophisticated voice, “the use of “seduce” and “cockblocking” in the same sentence is a really bold move…” Stan rolls his eyes yet again and chuckles. 

“So what do you say, Trashmouth? Wanna stay at the _Blum-Uris’ casa_?” 

“ _Casa?_ ” Richie repeats, his eyes going round, “Stan, I feel like we haven’t been around each other long enough for my stupidity to rub off on you like that!” They both start chuckling and Stan hides his eyes behind his palm, his cheeks getting redder. Richie has to grab his belly from how hard he’s laughing now. In between giggles, he continues, “But yes, Stanley, I would be honored to stay at your house tonight.” Stan does his best to stop laughing, but a wide smile keeps stretching his lips. His face is still slightly flushed and his eyes are shiny from how hard he’s been laughing. In a sultry voice, Richie adds, “I just hope the sweet sweet Patricia won’t realize that I’m a hot piece of ass and leave you in the middle of the night to start a new life with me.” 

“Beep beep, Trashmouth. I guess I’ll take my chances, huh? Let’s go get your things.” 

It takes Richie less than 10 minutes to gather all his things in his little backpack. Stan observes him running around the crappy little room. “That’s it?” he croaks once Richie says he’s done. 

“Yeah, I didn’t really bother packing when I left. I didn’t know for how long I would leave…” Richie pauses, smirks, and continues, “And I was too impatient to see you, my love.” Of course, Stan rolls his eyes, which only encourages Richie to keep going, “I just couldn’t rest until our bodies were next to one another, my dearest! Oh, how I longed to be reunited with my childhood sweetheart.” Stan is shaking his head, trying to suppress a grin, when Richie firmly grabs his shoulders and pulls him into a hug. Before Stan can even try to get out of Richie’s death grip, he makes them both fall onto the bed. Stan screams and does his best to stay serious in between cries of laughter.

“RICHIE I SWEAR—“ 

“Don’t fight it, Staniel !” 

“LET ME GO! I’M GOING TO HIT YOU IN THE BALLS.” 

“Oh, Stan, my love! Your tender words go right to my heart… _and my loins._ ” 

“FUCK— RICHIE!” 

When Richie finally lets Stan go, he stands up as quickly as he can. His hair is messily falling on his forehead and his face is crimson from all the screaming and laughing. Richie has a satisfied smile on his face. 

“Your bed smells like death, Rich. Please, let’s get out of here.” 

“Alright… _my dearest._ ” 

“Beep fucking beep.” 

————

XI.

As soon as they enter the pristine-looking house, a delicious smell tickles Richie’s nose. Quick little footsteps are getting louder, and suddenly a long-haired woman appears in the corridor. She’s small, but maybe Richie isn’t the best judge of that. Her dark hair is framing a round face with freckles and full lips. Richie notices how clear her eyes are because they sparkle when she grabs his hands in hers. She’s way more bubbly and energetic than Richie had imagined her to be. It’s a good surprise.

“Hi, you must be Richie! I’m so glad we’re finally meeting. This feels like long overdue,” Richie smiles when she tries to wrap her tiny hands around Richie’s. She finally settles on just shaking his hand. “I’m Patricia, but you can just call me Patty.” 

“Hi, yeah. It’s nice to meet you. Stan’s been talking about you nonstop since I arrived.” 

“Has he?” she smiles before turning around to kiss her husband. Richie would make a noise of complaint if he wasn’t tremendously happy for his friend. “Well, I’m so excited to meet one of Stan’s old friends. I can’t wait to hear all the weird things little Stan did.” 

“Oh, Patty… Believe me, I have many _weird things little Stan did_ to talk about.” 

“Alright,” Stan interrupts while his wife giggles like a little kid, “Richie I’ll show you to the guest room. Babylove, I’ll come help you in a minute.” 

Patty nods and kisses him on the cheek before heading down to what Richie guesses is the kitchen again. As he follows Stan up the stairs, Richie can’t help but rejoice, “You call your wife babylove? That’s so so cute, Stanny.” 

“For the love of god, Rich… Beep beep.” 

“What! I would call her babylove too, she’s a cutie. I wasn’t really making fun of you, for once.” 

Stan doesn’t reply, but a soft smile stretches his lips. He hums softly and Richie almost wants to roll his eyes from how in love he seems with Patricia, but he can’t. He just grins.

“Aright so there’s our room, my office, the bathroom, and, finally, your room!” Stan points to different doors and Richie nods at every new piece of information. 

He isn’t surprised to find the guest room in perfect condition. The bed is made, the window is cracked open so fresh air fills the room, and everything is clean and nice. Richie smiles at the bird painting hanging over the bed. This looks like a really fancy hotel room, except he feels at home there. He can’t explain it, but the smell of the house feels familiar, comforting. 

“Wow, Stanley! I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave such a beautiful room. You might need to get used to me living with you.” 

“Aw, don’t worry, Rich,” Stan grins while crossing his arms on his chest, “I’m pretty sure this is gonna be a hot mess in just a few days.” 

“What are you implying, my good man? I’m the perfect house guest, you’ll see.” 

“Oh I’ll see alright.” 

They laugh and push each other like a bunch of teenagers. Finally, Richie sits on the bed and pats the soft comforter while wiggling his eyebrows at Stan. 

“Okay so that’s my cue to go help my wife,” Stan nods before leaving. Richie can hear him chuckle in the hallway, though. 

He starts unpacking the few things he has. He’ll have to ask Stan if he can borrow their washing machine; his only shirt is getting a bit dirty. He’s thankful he bought that awesome fish shirt! Richie thinks back to what Stan said, and he can’t help but play back the “this room will be a mess in a few days” in his head. _A few days._ How long is Richie welcomed here? Of course, he’d thought he would be in Atlanta for one, maybe two days at the most… Yet, here he is, already on his second day. And he absolutely doesn’t want to leave. He just… He can’t explain it. He stops thinking about it, puts on his new shirt, and heads downstairs to see if he can be of any help in the kitchen. 

———— 

XII.

“Come on, Richie,” Patty insists while passing the bread to her husband, “let’s start with the embarrassing Stan stories.” 

“Patty, baby, let him eat. You don’t need to hear those stories, believe me.” 

“Oh Stan, my man, please let the lady talk !” Richie exclaims in a grave voice. “I promised entertainment, and now I must provide.” Stan unsurprisingly glances up at the ceiling while Patty gestures for him to stop interrupting. He makes an exaggerated hurt pout, and Patty grabs his hand with a tender smile. 

“Please dear Richard,” Patty continues in a surprisingly theatrical tone, “entertain me !” 

“God, there’s two of you,” Stan whispers with a smirk, pinching the bridge of his nose. Richie and Patty share a complicit look and giggle. 

“Okay so, we were at a summer camp together, right? We were kids, maybe 15 or something. Stan’s got the top bunk, and I’m already snoring under him.” Richie gets so intensely wrapped up in his storytelling that he almost forgets to eat. But Patty’s cooking smells so good, he still stops in between every few sentences to eat a bite. “Suddenly, the bed frame starts squeaking. So of course I wake up, look around. I must admit, for a second, I almost thought old Stanley here had brought, _or kidnapped_ , a girl.” Patty smiles at her husband who softly shakes his head. Stan’s looking at his plate, but there’s a little grin on his lips and he’s enjoying Richie’s narration more than he cares to admit. “But then I look up and realize Stan is holding binoculars to the window next to the bed. So, again, my first thought is that he must be stalking the girls, trying to see in their dorm. So, quite naturally, I jump the ladder to join him!” 

“So what was he looking at?” Patty asks, drawing her lower lip between her teeth in anticipation. 

“Your husband, my dear Patricia, was trying to spot a fucking owl he SWORE he could hear hooting outside.” 

“It was a barred owl, Richie!” Stan finally interrupts, his passion taking over his common sense. Richie lifts his index finger to command his friend to stay quiet. Patty can’t contain her giggles from the end of the table. 

“So, little Stan starts telling me about this couple of _barred_ owls he’s been hearing outside. Little Richie is, understandably, very disappointed. So I start going back down the ladder, but this psycho follows me. He hit the ground with both his feet, almost waking our dormmates up, and goes (Richie pauses to try and do his best little Stan impression) _Rich, we gotta go find them!_ ” 

“I did _not_ sound like that,” Stan spits, repressing yet another eye roll. 

“You absolutely did, Stanley. Anyway, so little Stan drags little Richie out of our dorm. And that was, like, _completely_ forbidden. I didn’t mind a little bit of juvenile delinquency, but oh boy Stan was such a goodie two shoes at the time! And here he was, forcing me to follow him in the dark so he could see some freaking owls boning.” 

“In his defense,” Patty raises her finger to interrupt Richie, shooting a playful glance at her husband, “barred owls are really interesting.” 

“Thank you, babylove,” Stan whispers in a mock-serious tone, grabbing Patty’s hand in his and glaring at Richie. 

“Wow, you’re definitely made for one another then!”

“We are.” Stan brings his wife’s fingers to his mouth and kisses them gently. This time, it’s too much for Richie who has to roll his eyes with a little smirk. 

“Well, in the end, we got grounded because of those damn barred owls. The camp counselor found us hiding in the bushes… The next day, they all went kayaking on the lake without us. And little Stan never saw those goddamn birds.” Richie bows to conclude his story and Patty tilts her head and smiles. 

“Thank you, Richie,” she cheers, “this was lovely. You’re a really good storyteller.”

“And you’re a great listener, Pattycakes!”

“Pattycakes?” Stan repeats, doubtful. 

But Patty states that she likes it with a little wink towards Richie. He smiles back and, as much as he tries to stay serious, the corners of Stan’s lips quirk up again. 

\--------

XIII.

Richie sleeps well in the Uris’ guest room. The comforter feels soft against his skin. It’s definitely an upgrade from that dirty little hotel room! He and Stan didn’t really talk about what would happen the next day. Is Richie leaving? Will Stan be there when he wakes up? The numerous questions float in his mind and, finally, wake him up. The first rays of sunshine are peeking through his blinds, but he can tell it’s still dark outside. The house is quiet, peaceful. Richie wanders through the hall and to the bathroom to quickly wash his face. He’s halfway down the stairs when he realizes he’s still in his Spider-Man boxers. He goes back up, puts some clothes on, and heads down to the living room. 

Stan’s sitting on the sofa, a cup of hot tea in his hands. He’s wearing glasses and, even if it suits him, Richie thinks they make him look older. It takes a few seconds for him to notice Richie; it seems like he’s absorbed by his thoughts. He greets him, a tone of surprise in his voice. The teapot is still half full, and Richie decides to join Stan. 

“Our bed wasn’t as comfortable as the one in the hotel, huh?” Stan smiles.

“Oh no, I just couldn’t rest when I knew you were so close to me,” Richie winks in response. Stanley almost snorts, which startles him a little. They chit chat quietly, both looking out the big bay window. The sun is slowly showing itself and the morning dew shines on the bucolic garden. Richie wants to ask what the plan is, how long he’s supposed, _welcome_ , to stay here… Instead, he tries, “Hey Stan, could I borrow your washing machine? I didn’t bring any clothes and I’m starting to get a bit… musky.” 

“Sure, Rich. I’ll lend you some clothes while yours are in the washer.” They both smile, but some sorts of tension make Richie look away. He’s almost sure Stan’s thinking about the same thing as he is. When he’s about to try and defuse the tension, Stan blurts out, “How long do you plan on staying, Richie?” It doesn’t sound accusatory, just curious. 

“I don’t know, I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Richie breathes before smirking. “And you were right, the room’s already a mess.” They chuckle. 

“Alright.” Stan seems hesitant, thoughtful. Richie stays quiet, hoping it’ll push him to talk his mind. It does. “Just know that I… I want you to stay. I mean, as long as you want, of course. But yeah, you’re not a burden, Rich. It’s— It’s weird, but it feels like you belong here, you know? That’s probably something weird to say to a friend you haven’t seen in more than 20 years, but it’s the truth.”

Richie could start crying. His eyes pierce Stan’s and he sees nothing but sincerity and kindness. He has to take a deep breath before almost whispering, “Maybe it’s weird, but I don’t care, man. I feel good here, I really do. Thank you.” Richie wants to jump on his friend, hug him tightly, and never let go. He feels like Stan holds all the answers to the questions he spent his whole life asking himself. He doesn’t know why, or how he never realized it before, but the connection that unites them seems stronger than anything he’s ever felt. 

————

XIV.

Richie looks at himself in the mirror and isn’t really sure the reflection is his own. Stan’s tight-knit sweater hugs Richie’s broad shoulders so close, he can see the shadow of his own collarbones. And, weirdly enough, Stan had to lend him a belt because his pants were a bit too big. What shocks him the most though, is the neutral tones of the clothes he’s wearing. The sweater is a deep brown, and the slacks are grey. Surely the opposite of his usual loud Hawaiian shirts and distressed jeans. He looks like a proper adult but feels like an imposter. 

“Wow, you’re so handsome,” Patty surprises him when he gets out of the bathroom. She smoothes the fabric on his forearm and gives him a little squeeze. 

“You’re just saying that cause I’m wearing your husband's clothes, aren’t you Pattycakes ?” 

“Maybe… But it’s true! They fit you.”

Stan’s already gone to work. He told Richie he would try to come home early. He even offered to take some days off, in case Richie was planning on staying with them a bit longer. And god, he really wants to… Even then, being alone with Patty (a woman he met less than 24 hours ago), he feels at ease. Maybe it’s the cool Atlanta air, he thinks. 

Patty and Richie spend all day together. They talk, cook, eat, and Patty shows Richie around the neighborhood. Time flies and, before they even really notice it, the sun starts setting. Richie’s helping with dinner when he hears the front door open. Stan arrives in the kitchen, a big smile plastered on his face. 

“It smells wonderful in here.” 

“Thanks, Staniel. Your wife is an awesome cook.” 

“She sure is.” 

Patty wipes her hands on her apron and turns around to wrap them around Stan’s neck, pulling him down into a passionate kiss. He hums against her lips and his free hand wraps around her waist. Once they part, they stare at each other for a second, and in a soft voice, Stan informs, “I’m gonna go change and put my stuff in the office and I’ll be here in a minute.” 

“Alright, honey.” And Stanley leaves the kitchen, the sincere smile still on his lips. 

They hear him take the stairs two by two, and Patty chuckles a little. She seems thoughtful and Richie observes her silently. Finally, she looks up at him and smiles, “I have to say, Richie… I’m glad you’re here. Stan is— He seems happier. I know he loves me, but except for some of our neighbors and his colleagues, he doesn’t really have anyone else, you know? Sometimes I’m scared he’s lonely. But you’re— What I mean is that I’m glad you’re here for him.” 

Richie can’t help but to clamp and hand on his chest, his heart threatening to get out from how fast it’s beating. His eyes sting. He breathes in, and out, and in, and out. Thinking about it, Richie realizes that he’s in the same situation as Stan (except he doesn’t even have a Patricia to share his life with). He scratches his throat. “Thank you, Patty. I— I’m glad I’m here too.” 

————

XV.

They eat the lasagna Patty and Richie made with a nice bottle of wine Stan got out of their cellar (because, yes, apparently the Urises have a freaking wine cellar). One bottle quickly turns to two and, when Patty warns her husband that he’s gonna hate waking up for work the next morning, he informs them that he took another day off. They cheer and drink even more and laugh. Richie feels lighthearted, a dumb and drunk smile never leaving his lips. 

The lively conversation moving from one topic to another, they end up talking about their favorite childhood movies and actually decide to watch them all. Piled together on the couch, they start with The Goonies because Stan insists it’s the “superior film” of them all. Richie’s stomach churns with melancholy while they watch the familiar scenes. Stan practically lip-syncs the whole movie. They continue with Ghostbusters, and Pretty in Pink. Richie enjoys it more than he thought he would and Patty is really pleased with herself. They round it all up with The Breakfast Club because it’s a classic. 

It’s the middle of the night when the credits start rolling. Richie looks around him through half hooded eyes; his hosts are both asleep. Stan’s pressed against Richie, his head on his shoulder, and Patty’s curled up in her husband’s lap. Suddenly, a wave of emotions comes over Richie, sobers him up a little. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long, long time. And he hasn’t been this comfortable touching someone in quite a while, too. Sure, he’s had a few one-night stands, but the physical aspect of it was just that- physical. But, leaning against Stan and Patty, he feels his heart warm with love. He wiggles his arm out from under Stan to wrap it around his friend’s shoulder, adjusting himself around the other man so they’re both comfortable. A few minutes later, Richie’s sleeping as well. 

He wakes up first. Stan and Patty shifted in their sleep and now both laying down on the couch. Richie does his best not to wake them up while he escapes to the kitchen. He’s used to hangovers so he’s able to stand up without wanting to throw up. He chugs a glass of water and raids the fridge so he can start making an omelet. It’s full of cheese and ham and tomatoes and, eventually, its greasy smell wakes up the sleeping couple. 

“Are you actually making breakfast?” Patty exclaims, her hair sticking up in a surprising way. 

“I am,” Richie answers proudly. 

“Oh my god, I think I’m in love with you.” She comes near the pan to smell the cheesy goodness and sighs happily. 

“Don’t let your husband hear you,” Richie winks, flipping the omelet like a pro. He’s not that good of a cook, but hangover breakfasts are his forte. 

“I heard that.” A sleepy and bed-headed Stan comes into the kitchen as well. Dark circles surround his tired eyes, and a wild curl seems to stand on his head by itself. Richie grins at him, at how comfortable this all feels. 

“What’s up, Staniel? Not used to hangovers anymore, huh?” 

“What do you mean ‘anymore’? I never got used to them, Rich!” 

“What an old man,” Richie mocks, his lips over his teeth to appear toothless. 

Stan rolls his eyes, “We’re the same age, dumbass.” 

Richie serves the omelet and Patty immediately digs in. They eat silently and Stan prepares some tea. The coziness of it all makes Richie smile. He’s been here for two days, yet it feels like it’s been years. Good years, he thinks. 

“I was gonna suggest we go out or something,” Stan tells Richie while they’re eating, “but maybe we should just stay here instead.” Richie nods because, to be honest, he’s happy to do anything if it’s with Stan. 

————

XVI.

In the afternoon, Stan vanishes from the living room and says he’ll be back. Richie makes a joke about how he can just say he’s going to the toilet, and Stanley just smiles in response. Patty was in the process of showing Richie some pictures of her when she was a kid, so she just continues and Richie focuses his attention back on her. Patty was a cute but awkward kid. Kind of like him, actually. Kind of like Stan. Kind of like all the losers. To be honest, in Richie’s heart, she’s already an honorary loser. But he decides that this settles it even more. 

When Stan comes back, he has a big and dusty moving box in his arms. His name is written on the side. Both Patty and Richie stop talking when they notice him, curious. 

“I knew this was somewhere in the attic,” Stan states. Before anyone can ask, he answers, “I paid a visit to my parents a few months ago, and they gave me this box with some stuff from when I was a kid. I’m pretty sure we could find some pictures of us, Rich.”

Richie leaps toward his friend, his hands already diving in the box. Everything’s covered in a thick layer of dust and, when Stan puts the box down, a little cloud gets out. 

“Oh fuck,” Richie exclaims while grabbing an old and damaged book, “I remember you walking around with this! You would whip it out of your backpack every time you heard a bird sing.” Stan nods while Patty looks up at him lovingly. The book is a scientific collection of different types of birds in Northern America. When he opens it, Richie’s greeted by hundreds of little notes and comments. He reads some, Stan’s voice echoing in his head. 

“Oh my god, honey. Were you collecting those ?” Patty raises her hand out of the box with a handful of bird feathers. She lays them down on the end table and admires them. 

“Yeah, I used to analyze them in my journal. I tried to find the kind of bird they were from before looking it up in a book to see if I was right. I got really good at it.” Richie smiles because he didn’t know that about Stan and it feels good to learn new things instead of just suddenly remembering them. He digs around to try and find that journal but gets distracted by a shiny pocket watch. He wipes it on his pants (before remembering they’re actually Stan’s, so he tries to get rid of the dust stains). The glass is cracked, but the clock is still ticking. He silently hands it to Stan, and his face twits briefly. Richie refrains from making a joke about what an old man Stan is, the atmosphere has become too heavy for his trashy jokes. “It was my grandfather’s,” Stan utters, “He gave it to me before he passed, told me every gentleman had to have a pocket watch.” Patty grabs his hand and he lands a kiss on her knuckles. 

“That’s so sweet, honey.” 

“I can’t believe it’s still working… It just kept ticking in the attic, for so long.” Stan stares intensely at the watch, and then he shoots a look at Richie and does his best to smile. He sets the watch on the table and scratches his throat before digging into the box again. He finds a few other trinkets like a frayed friendship bracelet, a postcard from camp, and an old comic book or two. Finally, he gets two leather-bound journals. One of them ends up being a photo album, and the other is the journal Stan talked about. In it, there’s a mix of bird facts, diary entries from little Stan, doodles, and random lists. The trio holds it in the middle, so they can all look at it. Richie feels weirdly proud that Stan is ready to share this personal thing with him, he touches the journal like it’s an ancient artifact. They read through a few pages together, alternating between the bird feathers analysis, a cute little drawing of a kingfisher, and diary logs. Stan starts reading : 

« Today was picture day. It will probably look bad like it always does. But we took a group picture and Richie was standing behind Eddie and he raised his hand to give him bunny ears so I can’t wait to see how the picture turns out! » 

He looks up at Richie with a grin and Patty giggles behind him. But Richie can’t seem to smile back; he feels like he just drank boiling water. To try and divert the attention, he jokes, “You know, bunny ears are still my forte…” 

Patty’s about to ask what he means when Stan interrupts, “Don’t ask… it’s probably a sex thing.” 

Richie smirks and both Uris roll their eyes, which feels really in character for them both. Richie turns the page, starts reading right away : 

« Today, Richie showed me around the arcade. I know it’s one of his favorite places, he spends a lot of time there. I prefer reading comics or books, but I was glad to go with him and the games were fun. I think he actually let me win once, which is weird. I didn’t think he would. After a while, Bowers showed up so we had to leave. We ran to our bikes and pedaled as fast as we could. I was really out of breath, but it also felt really good. I don’t know how to explain it. Richie was screaming that we had to go faster, so we did. I think sometimes I live too slowly. Richie doesn’t, he’s always so fast at everything, even when he talks. Sometimes I think we balance each other out. It was a good day. »

Both Stan’s and Richie’s cheeks turn a shade of red, which makes Patty smile brightly. Of course, Richie has to crack a joke, “Aww Stanny! Do I complete you? Am I your other half?” He grabs Stan’s arm to try and pull him in so he can kiss him on the cheek. Stan dodges the attack, and Richie ends up loudly kissing the air between them. It makes Patty laugh anyway. 

They read a few other extracts that talk about Stan visiting a bird sanctuary with his parents or about how he hates his English teacher. Finally, they lend on a page with « The losers club » written in bold letters at the top. The corners of a picture are tapped under it, but the shot seems to have been ripped out. At the end of the page, seven signatures can be found, including Richie’s (which is a crude drawing of himself next to his name) and Stan’s. When they turn the page, they find a list of all the members of said club. _Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon._ They stare at the name silently. Next to them are notes from little Stan. Nobody reads aloud, but they’re all focused on the page. 

« Stanley Uris: That’s me! :) 

Richie Tozier: Well, you know Richie. He’s my oldest friend. I call him Trashmouth because he makes trashy jokes, but he’s also funny. Don’t tell him I said that. 

Bill Denbrough: You know Bill too! We’re in class together. He’s really fun, but he’s not the same since Georgie died... We go on bike rides in the woods together. 

Eddie Kaspbrak: Eddie’s Bill’s friend. He’s a bit weird, but he’s funny. He always has bandaids and hand sanitizer. He also talks really fast and sometimes that stresses me out… 

Ben Hanscom: I don’t think I’ve talked about Ben yet. He’s the new kid in school. He’s kind of shy but he knows a lot of history stuff so it’s really fun to talk with him! 

Beverly Marsh: Beverly’s kind of scary. But she’s also really brave, so it’s fun to have her around! I know that deep down she’s really nice too. She pushes us to be stronger. I like her.

Mike Hanlon: Mike is so nice !! I don’t know why we weren’t friends before… He always has something nice to say and he doesn’t mind if I talk about birds for hours. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to tell me to stop, I don’t know. » 

Stan has a soft smile on his lips when he looks up from the page. Richie can’t look away, though. The burning sensation in his stomach came back, and it’s even stronger now. He doesn’t have a headache yet, but he can’t seem to relax his face, which is twisted in some sort of anxious pout… He gets that feeling again, like someone is banging on his head, trying to get in. 

“Do you remember them?” Stan asks in a tender voice. Richie feels like he’s an old man on his deathbed, trying in vain to remember his family members in front of him. There’s something in Stan’s voice that tells him _he_ remembers. But Richie doesn’t, not entirely. He remembers silhouettes, figures… But the faces are blurry and he doesn’t feel anything for these people, except for some kind of frustrated curiosity. 

“Not really, Stan,” he admits and his friend nods slowly. Patty is quiet at the end of the couch. 

“Keep reading then.” Stan approaches the journal from Richie, balancing it between both their thighs. Patty doesn’t seem bothered by it; it’s like she understands the gravity of the situation and how it doesn’t really concern her. 

Richie reads and reads. He’s reminded of all their crazy adventures, of all the time they escaped Bowers’ bullying. He’s astonished when he remembers they had an actual rock fight… Richie can’t believe how detailed this all is; it’s almost like Stan _knew_ they were going to forget. A few pages are ripped out of the journal and Richie wonders why. When he looks up, Patty’s gone. Stan has a gentle smile on his lips. Richie continues reading. 

« Today we all hung out together, it was really fun. Ben couldn’t take his eyes off Bev. I’m pretty sure he has a crush on her. It’s pretty obvious. » 

Richie suddenly has a flash of a little kid staring at a red-headed girl, palms sweaty from how anxious he is to talk to her. 

« Today we celebrated Mike’s birthday. He didn’t want to do anything, so we threw a surprise party. It wasn’t much, but we all met in the clubhouse and we all pitched in to buy him a few comic books. He cried. I hope he liked it. »

Richie remembers being pulled into a group hug, someone crying “thank you” over and over again. He remembers that someone being kind, gentle. 

« Today, we hung out in the clubhouse again. I don’t like how dirty it is, but it’s our place, you know? We installed a hammock, and of course, Richie and Eddie spent all day bickering about who gets to sit in it. In a weird way, I think they like each other. Like, _really like._ Richie always tries to get Eddie’s attention. » 

Richie thinks he’s going to puke again. He doesn’t quite know why. It feels like there’s a black spot in his memory, something he’s missing. And it feels like that _something_ is important, would tie it all together. He looks up again because reading has just become too painful for his aching mind. Stan is fishing something out of the box again. It’s a small piece of paper. He gets the dust off of it, and Richie realizes it’s actually a photo booth set of pictures. 

“Here,” Stan whispers while handing him the picture, “does this help?” 

Richie carefully takes it from him, scans the faces piled together in the small photo booth. He spots himself; it’s not hard to do, with his big glasses and shaggy hair. Stan’s also there, of course. But it’s when his eyes land on the other faces that his head starts spinning again. 

He remembers. 

Remembering Stan was already hard enough, but remembering five people at the same time? It feels like he’s about to pass out. He stands up awkwardly, tosses the journal and the picture aside, and heads towards the front door. He needs fresh hair, he needs to get out. He thinks he hears Stan following him, but he can’t bother to check. When the front door won’t open, he heads towards the bathroom instead; if he can’t get fresh air, a cold shower will have to do. While he climbs up the stairs, he thinks about all the times he smoked cigarettes behind the school with Beverly, thinks about the time Bill and him fought and he felt awful inside. It all comes back to him and he’s sure his brain is going to explode. 

“Rich, you okay ?” he hears Stan ask behind him. Richie shakes his head wildly, staggers to the bathroom door, and dunks his head in the sink. The cold water on his cheeks helps his headache a little, but now he feels like throwing up. He does. Stan stays by his side, a soft hand going up and down his back. “Come on, you should take a shower.” And Stan helps him get out of his sweater. In his boxers and undershirt, Richie feels vulnerable. But he suspects it’s more about what he read in Stan’s journal than the fact that he’s almost naked. Stan stays next to him while he enters the walk-in shower. Richie stays under the cold spray of water, hopes maybe it will wash some of his memories away. 

And because finally, he can’t stand not to think about it, Eddie’s face fills Richie’s mind. How could he forget about Eddie? It all comes back to him in a loud wave of feelings. Their constant bickering, Richie’s desperate need for Eddie’s attention, their trashy back and forth that always got the other losers rolling their eyes, and, finally, Richie’s deep and passionate love for one of his best friends… 

His knees give out and Richie lays on the floor, the water dripping down his face. And, without really realizing it, he starts crying. A few tears quickly turn into loud and hurtful sobs. He just doesn’t know how to deal with all this new knowledge he gained. 

“It’s alright,” Stan assures him. Richie didn’t notice him walk into the shower with his clothes on. He’s sitting behind Richie and grabs his shoulders to cradle him in his lap. Stan’s hands are warm and Richie suddenly feels like his whole body is frozen and in desperate need of heat. He curls up against Stan’s side, wipes his face on his soaked sweater like it’ll dry his tears. His hands dig into the fabric without him even noticing and, in response, Stan squeezes Richie against him. 

“How could I forget, Stan ?” he cries, “How could I forget them? How could I forget Eddie ?” 

“I don’t know, Richie. I did too. We all did, I think.” Richie tries to get the wet hair out of his face so he can see Stan better. He’s looking down at him with a gentle, yet slightly hurt face. Why isn’t he as devastated as Richie, then? Why isn’t he the one throwing up and crying in his underwear in a shower? Stan seems to understand Richie’s train of thoughts, so he whispers, “I remembered them all once we met. I don’t know why, but everyone and everything came back to me all at once. It was hard, too. There are still some missing pieces… But yeah, I remembered all the losers. After a while, I figured you didn’t. I didn’t know how to bring it up, how to make you remember. I wasn’t even sure you wanted to, Rich. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard right now. Maybe you weren’t fighting it back. Maybe it’s because of Eddie, too. But it’ll get better. I’m here and I won’t be going anywhere.” 

“You knew, right ?” Richie sobs, because there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore. He read little Stan’s journal, saw that, even then, Stan knew. 

Stan doesn’t even ask what he’s talking about. He just smiles at him, squeezes his shoulder gently, and nods. _Of course, he knew._ Richie just started remembering it, yet Stan knew all along. 

“Where do I go from here,” Richie trembles, more to himself than to Stan. But, caring as he is, of course Stan won’t let the question hang in the air unanswered. He reaches behind Richie to turn the water off and that’s when Richie realizes how silly they must look. If Patty walked in right now, it would definitely be a weird thing to explain. 

“First, you’re gonna wrap yourself in a towel while I go get us some dry clothes. And then, well… we’ll figure it out from there.” Richie nods at Stan’s instructions like a lost little kid because, quite frankly, that’s what he feels like. So he stands up, his head dizzy from all the crying, and does his best to dry his hair so it won’t drip all over the bathroom floor. Next to him, Stan is taking off his soaked clothes. His sweater falls to the ground in a loud smack. They’re both wrapped up in a towel, nothing but underwear on, and Richie wants to make a joke about it… but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches Stan silently until he leaves the room to get them some clothes. 

He comes back with what Richie suspects are pj’s and it almost makes him smile. One of the sets is a simple plaid pattern, and the other (of course) has little birds on it. 

“Jesus Stan, can’t you sleep in something normal like everyone else? And how many pajama sets do you own ?” Richie finally manages to smirk. 

“Shut up, they’re comfy. But you’re welcome to stay in your soaked underwear if you want to, Trashmouth.” 

“Give me the damn pj’s.” 

————

XVII.

It’s late in the night, but Richie can’t sleep. He’s still wearing Stan’s stupid (but incredibly comfortable) pj’s. After getting out of that damn bathroom, they went back to the living room and the box was gone. Patty was making dinner and Stan prepared them two cups of tea. They drank in silence and, when dinner was ready, Richie said he wasn’t hungry and went up to his room, just like a moody teenager would’ve. Of course, 30 minutes later, he heard a knock on his bedroom door and found a platter full of food on the ground. He didn’t know if it was Stan’s or Patty’s doing, but he felt touched anyway. He ate the delicious food and brought the tray down so he could clean his dish; it was the least he could do. He barely heard Patty walk up to him. She put her hand on his, told him she hoped he was okay. He held back his tears and thanked her before going back to his room. When he got there, he sent a text to his manager saying she had to cancel all his shows for the week and turned off his phone before she could answer. He tried to go to sleep, but of course, it was useless to even try and close his eyes. 

And here he is, still in bed, still awake. He kept the blinds open so he could stare at the moon. Suddenly, he feels the urge to go out, so he opens his window and he does. The roof feels cold under his bare feet, but the soft wind is soothing. From here, he has a great view of Patty’s garden. She set up little solar panel lights and they create a blue halo over her flowerbeds. Richie can see the window of Stan and Patty’s room and, for a second, he wants to go knock on it, but he doesn’t. He feels lonely, up on the cold roof. He grabs a cigarette and lights it, takes the biggest drag he can manage without coughing. The itch in his throat makes another memory come back. He remembers being on a similar roof, smoking a cigarette, with Eddie by his side. They were at a sleepover and Richie was too lazy to go down the stairs to smoke on the porch, so he just walked out the window and sat on the roof. He’d tried to get Stan to follow him, but he was too busy playing video games with Bill. So he lit up his cigarette anyway, alone on the roof. Then, he heard the window squeak behind him, and Eddie’s face appeared from behind the curtains. He remembers a 16 years old Eddie yelling at him that he’s stupid and that smoking will kill him so maybe he should just jump off the roof if he doesn’t care about dying. And he remembers answering that maybe he would, and Eddie rolled his eyes and gave him the finger. Richie thought that was the end of that and he turned around to look at Derry; it didn’t seem as miserable from up there. Another noise caught his attention and, before he could turn back, Eddie was sitting next to him. He was mumbling about how disgusting that roof was and how the tiles could slip and killed them both… but he was there. He was there, next to Richie, despite how dangerous it apparently was. And it was enough for Richie. 

But, when he opens his eyes, he’s alone. A gust of wind scatters the ashes of his cigarette, so he puts it out on the tiles and lights another one... and another one. For a second, he thinks about searching for a bottle of alcohol in the kitchen. Or he could just go through the cellar, pick a good bottle of wine, and chug it. Thinking about it makes his skin itch… But then he thinks about how Stan would react, and that’s enough to stop him from leaving the roof. So he lights yet another cigarette and stares at the moon who seems to stare back. 

————

XVIII.

When Richie wakes up, the house is empty. It takes him a long time to actually get out of bed. His throat hurts. His head, too. When he realizes his pack of cigarettes is empty, he understands why. Yesterday feels like years ago, yet every wound it opened is still painfully fresh. 

He finds a note on the kitchen island. He recognizes Stan’s neat and symmetric handwriting. 

« Morning sleepyhead. 

I’ll be back in the afternoon. In the meanwhile, make yourself at home. Buuut if you finish my cereals, I’ll hunt you down. :) 

Love you. Stan. »

Richie smiles. Underneath Stan’s, he notices a note in Patty’s cute and cursive handwriting. He feels like a kid whose parents aren’t home. 

« Made you breakfast so you don’t steal my husband’s precious cereals! :) It’s in the fridge. 

Love u too! Pattycakes. <3 »

Richie eats the pancakes while watching TV. It takes his mind off the unpleasant commotion of his thoughts. 

Once he’s done, he turns his phone back on. Unsurprisingly, he has about a hundred texts and missed calls from his manager. He was expecting it, but it still makes him sigh. It’s the last thing he wants to think about. He focuses on the texts he received from Stan instead : 

Stan - Hey Rich. If you wanna have lunch with me, I’ve got a break at 12:30pm. 

Stan - Let me know. 

Richie - hey. just woke up

Stan - Slept okay? 

Richie - not really

Stan - :( 

Stan - Wanna come to lunch then? 

Richie - how? 

Stan - Just take Patty’s car. I dropped her off this morning so her car’s all yours. :) 

Richie - she wont mind? 

Stan - Of course not. 

Richie - okay then. send me the location 

Richie has to buy a new pack of cigarettes anyway, so heading into town is probably a good idea. He retrieves his clean clothes from the laundry room, changes, and goes to the garage. Patty drives a cute little convertible. When he gets in, his knees bang against the wheel. He adjusts the seat and leaves the house. 

Stan is already at the restaurant when Richie gets there. He’s sitting at a table outside, which is weird since the wind is quite strong and Stan has always preferred being warm… 

“Thought maybe you’d like to smoke,” Stan explains when Richie raises his brows. It makes him want to cry again. Fuck, since when is he that emotional? He sits down and lights the first cigarette of the pack he just bought. The talk about Stan’s job for a while. Richie isn’t _that_ interested, but he’ll talk about anything if it means ignoring what happened yesterday. 

Richie finally swallows and asks, “Stan… would it— would it maybe be okay if I stayed at your house a while longer?” And, before Stan can answer, he adds, “I would pay for rent and food, of course. Or, I don’t know. But I would just stay there for free, you know. I just—“ 

“It’s fine, Richie. Of course, you can stay.” They both smile. “In fact, I want you to. I just— I feel like I need you to stay. There’s just something so weird about this whole situation, right? I feel like the only way to get to the bottom of it is to stay together.” 

“Losers stick together,” Richie whispers absentmindedly. It sends shivers down his spine and, seeing the look on Stan’s face, he must feel it too.

————

XIX.

When Patty and Stan get home, later in the day, Richie’s in a heated argument with his manager. They can almost hear her screams from the phone clamped in Richie’s hand. 

“I don’t fucking care if it’s unethical, Sal. I just can’t make it to the shows, sorry.” 

_“Where the fuck are you, Richie? I’m so fucking worried, the least you could do is tell me where you are! After everything I’ve done for you, I—“_

“I’m fine! I’m sorry. I just need some time.” 

_“Are you drinking again, is that it? Will I find you passed out in a motel room again, like last year? I swear to god Richie I will—“_

Richie takes a deep breath, tries to put away the blurry memory. “Sally. That’s not it, I swear. I’m fine, I really am. I just have a… a family emergency. That’s probably the best way to explain it. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.” Sally sighs into the phone and Richie knows she’s done arguing. Just to be sure, he adds, “It’s just a few shows, Sal. I didn’t have any next week. It’ll be fine, I promise.” 

_“You better not fucking die on me, Tozier.”_ Her tone is gentler now, almost caring. Richie can hear her smile and it makes him grin too. 

“I wouldn’t dare. Thanks, Sal.” 

_“Yeah, you better fucking keep thanking me.”_

“I’ll never stop.” 

And Richie can finally hang up. When he enters the living room, two pairs of eyes turn to look at him anxiously. He smiles at his friends, tells them everything’s fine, and sits down next to Patty. 

“Sooo, Pattycakes… I don’t know if your darling husband already told you, but I was wondering if I could maybe stay here for a while ?” 

“My darling husband did,” she answers with a wide grin, “and, I agree on one condition.” 

“Alright, seems fair. What do you want me to do? Because I’ll do it. I’d kill a man for you. (Richie pauses and smiles when Patty starts giggling at his little show) Is that it? Do you need me to murder someone? No questions asked, I promise. I’m the hitman of your dreams, baby.” 

“As tempting as it is, it’s not that.” Patty grabs Richie’s arm and links it to hers. “If you’re gonna live here, you’re gonna need some new clothes…” 

“I don’t like where this is going. I’d rather kill a man, Patty. I’m serious.” 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” 

And, the next day, Patty drags him to a mall. He agrees because, even if he hates to admit it, wearing the same clothes every day probably isn’t the best idea. Patty dresses him, shoving clothes in his arms and ushering him towards the fitting rooms. The first few pieces she picks for him definitely look like things you would find in Stanley Uris’s wardrobe. It makes Richie wonder if Patty buys clothes for her husband. But, slowly, she starts improvising and the soft browns and greys turn into colors and patterns. She makes him try beanies and suits and pretty much everything she can find. Richie only _needs_ a few changes of everyday clothes, but he plays along. To be honest, he’s having as much fun as she is. He parades around the store in the most colorful suit they can find, strikes poses in front of the mirror. Patty takes hundreds of pictures of him, acting like a paparazzi and hiding behind clothes racks. They laugh a lot. People around them do too, and Richie can’t help but feel good when strangers find him funny. In the end, they don’t buy a lot of clothes; a pack of underwear (it’s not as good as his Spiderman ones, but they have fun patterns and it’s enough for Richie), a few shirts here and there, and a beanie Patty insisted on buying for him. 

They stop for ice cream before leaving and Richie tastes pretty much all the flavors before settling on vanilla. 

“I can’t believe you made that poor teenager give you a taste of all those weird flavors just to end up with vanilla,” Patty exclaims when they leave the shop. “It’s the most boring flavor, Richie!” 

“What can I say, Pattycakes! Weird flavors are fun, but vanilla’s a classic.”

They stop in a thrift shop on their way back, and Richie buys at least five Hawaiian shirts. One of them has birds on it and he plans on gifting it to Stanley. It’s a 3XL, but Richie just can’t help but smile when he imagines Stan floating in the shirt. He hides it from Patty so it’ll be a surprise for both of them. 

They stay in the shop longer than they thought they would. Patty tries vintage dresses and twirls in the small fitting room. Richie takes her hand and, before she can protest, he leads her into a dance. It looks like some kind of waltz, but Richie has no idea of what he’s doing. He just carries her around the almost empty shop while humming a melody. She laughs and laughs and almost falls when he tries to dip her. 

A memory suddenly hits Richie. 

The losers were at a sleepover. Bill and Eddie were playing video games in a corner while Mike, Ben, Stan, and Richie were talking and listening to the radio next to them. It was fun, more grown-up than it normally was. It felt like a proper party. A classical song came on the radio and, without really controlling it, Richie jumped up and declared, “Which one of these gentlemen will offer me this dance?”. He offered his hand with a little bow. Ben immediately looked away, burying himself underneath a blanket. Stan rolled his eyes, of course, and Mike looked amused but shook his head. Richie had to improvise, grabbed Stan’s hand to force him up. He was his best friend and the only one he felt comfortable to force into a waltz. Stan groaned and rolled his eyes some more while Richie led him around the room, hopping around clumsily and stepping on his feet. His goal was to catch Eddie’s attention, of course. And, eventually, he did. Bill paused their game and they both turned around to enjoy the show. Richie rejoiced, “Look, my dear Staniel, everyone’s watching us! What a great duo we must make, my dear.” 

“Shut up, Richie,” Stan finally hissed, working his way out of Richie’s tight grip. Richie gasped, clamping a hand to his heart and acting like Stan had just broken it. A few giggles came from Eddie’s direction. 

“My, my… How shall I go on without my dear partner! My heart, my poor heart!” He raised his hands to the ceiling, pleading for someone to save him from loneliness. Finally, he turned around to face Bill and Eddie and, his eyebrows raising just a little, he offered his hand with another little bow. “Maybe one of these two gentlemen will be kind enough to accept this poor lad’s hand?” 

“N-n-not a chance, Trashmouth.”

Lifting his chin to look past Bill, Richie grinned at Eddie. “My dear Eds, my Spaghetti man! Oh, please, dance with me.” Eddie laughed, but immediately tried to dodge Richie’s hand. 

“I swear to god Richie, don’t touch me.” He was blushing a little, and Richie couldn’t help but notice. He reached for Eddie’s hand again, only for it to be slapped away. It made him laugh, so he did it again and again. Eddie kept slapping his hands away, his cheeks slightly flushed and a smile hinting at his lips. Richie was practically beaming at him, happy to be so close even if they were technically fighting. “Fucking get away from me, Tozier. The song’s finished anyway.” Richie hadn’t even realized it, too focused on Eddie to listen to the music. 

Suddenly, Beverly came back from the balcony and scratched her throat so her friends would notice her. She smiled and declared in a serious voice, “Who dares deny this good man a dance? I shall be your partner, my dear.” And she offered her hand to Richie. He smiled at her and took it. They waltzed around their friends, the pop music clashing with their falsely sophisticated dance steps. Bev pressed her chin against Richie’s shoulder and he almost lifted her, twirling around so fast they almost fell. She smelt like cigarettes, Richie noticed. But, more importantly, she was smiling and laughing and Richie felt happy. Eddie was still watching them, a soft smile on his lips. When they finished their frenzied waltz, they were both panting. They sat down and conversations picked up from where they were left off. Richie watched Eddie and Bill play for the rest of the night, Beverly’s soft and knowing glance on him. When they were falling asleep, she kissed his cheek and he realized he never had a friend who was a girl before. He was glad Bev was in his life… 

“Richie? Where did you go?” Patty asks, worry shining in the back of her eyes but a soft smile on her lips. She’s still holding Richie’s hand, ready to break into another dance. He shakes his head, tries to get back to the moment. 

“Sorry, I think I got lost in my thoughts,” he half-smiles. Beverly feels so loud in his memory, red hair and cigarette smoke and all. Richie observes Patty; she’s nothing like Bev. She’s soft where Beverly was sharp, optimistic where she was solemn, and sensitive where she was bold. But they’re both strong and caring women that Richie has the privilege of knowing, and he feels immensely glad. His eyes stinging a little, he swallows and mutters, “I’m just really happy I got to meet you, you know?”

Patty’s smile drops in surprise before widening, stretching from ear to ear. She lets go of Richie’s hand so she can link hers around his neck, pulling him down into a tight hug. The lace of her dress tickles his nose, but he doesn’t care. He buries his face in her neck, enjoying the sweet smell of her perfume and somehow missing Bev’s cigarette smoke at the same time. 

————

XX.

When Richie wakes up the next morning, Stan’s reading the newspaper in the living room. The glassdoor to their backyard is open and a nice breeze makes the thin white curtains float gracefully. Stan’s wearing his new bird pattern shirt and Richie couldn’t have been more right; he looks absolutely adorable in the 3XL. It swallows him entirely and would land just above his knees if he hadn’t tied the two flaps of the shirt into a knot at his waist. It makes him look younger, too. Richie smiles at him, and Stan asks if he slept okay. It almost feels like a routine, and that feels good. The idea of staying here long enough to settle into a routine makes Richie’s head spin with happiness. 

Stan doesn’t have to work this morning, so they all eat breakfast together. They make pancakes and it quickly turns into a competition to see who can flip a pancake the best. Richie wins and Patty’s in second place. Stan swears he knows how to do it, he just got stressed because of the contest. Patty kisses him and says she knows what a good cook he is. Richie watches them silently, a smile on his face. 

When Stan leaves for work, Richie helps Patty in her garden. She teaches him about the flowers she takes care of and about how to keep the grass green. She sounds really enthusiastic and Richie’s happy to listen to her. 

In the evening, Stan gets back and they eat together and talk about their day. It all feels so comfortable, Richie wonders if he’ll ever leave. 

————

XXI.

The days go by quickly. Suddenly it’s the weekend and Stan and Richie have more time to spend together. They talk and talk and learn new things about one another. They remember, too. It feels less scary to remember together. 

Stan lets Richie sit in his office while he works. He looks so serious, with his glasses on the tip of his nose. Stan doesn’t like to work on his computer. He has to because it’s simply easier as an accountant… But he does it as little as he can. And Richie likes watching him write, his handwriting looking so grownup and mature. Richie tries to work too. Stan convinced him to write again. At first, he just writes random thoughts while trying to make them funny; it doesn’t really work. But, eventually and with enough support from Stan, he starts writing about his childhood, and about what it was like to grow up in a tiny town of rural Maine when you’re different. Richie doesn’t define _different_ just yet. He knows he doesn’t have to spell it out for Stan to understand, and he simply can’t see it written for now. But, even without the more serious aspect of his childhood, Richie’s actually kind of proud of his first drafts. They showcase some of Richie’s best pranks on his mother, the crazy things Went used to teach his son, and more adventures of the losers. Those are the hardest to write, though. Writing about his parents makes him nostalgic, sure, but writing about the losers is just nerve-wracking. Stan’s always here to support him so it makes it a little easier. 

On Saturday evening, they go out. It feels crazy to think Richie’s been there for less than a week. They eat at a fancy restaurant and Richie insists on paying to thank them for their hospitality. Stan argues, of course, to which Richie answers, “If you want to do something nice for me, why don’t we go dancing tonight?” 

“Deal.” 

The speed at which his friend answered astonishes Richie. Stan had never liked to dance and, even when they were going to parties in high school, he would stay in a corner or on the couch. Richie’s eyes went wide, a grin forming on his lips. Patty seemed equally enthused. 

“Stan the man wants to dance? That’s something I never thought I’d see!” 

“I’ll inform you that I’m a really good dancer. You should’ve seen the first dance at our wedding; it might’ve been Patty’s day, but all the eyes were on me then,” Stan gloats with a playful glance to his wife. She shakes her head softly and giggles. 

“I can’t wait.” 

They don’t go to a club because “come on, we’re 40 fucking years old!” but they find a nice pub that’s not too far from the house and they settle at the bar. The bartender is a young woman who says she excels at making cocktails. Patty immediately takes her to her words and orders a Sex on the Beach. It is indeed really good. They play darts and sing along some of the songs that come on the radio and, eventually, they leave their barstools to dance in the middle of the room. Richie remembers the few parties he and Stan went to in high school; Stan was so shy and calm. Even when he was tipsy, he knew how to keep his composure. He was a little wilder when they were just between them, but he’d never liked being loud in front of strangers. But now? Now, Richie is discovering a new person. Stanley Uris is standing on a chair, his messy curls framing his face while he sings (or rather shouts) along to You Give Love A Bad Name and random bar patrons cheer him on. Patty’s screaming like a cheerleader at a football game and Richie is just laughing as hard as he possibly can, doing his best to film the scene on his phone. 

On their walk back home, Stanley keeps jumping around and singing. He grabs Richie’s arm, trying to get him to dance as well. And of course he does, because it’s Stan and he can’t resist and, even if he’s not that drunk, he never really cared about making a fool of himself in public. So they march together, linked arms and twin smiles on their face. When they get home, Stan falls on the couch before even trying to get to his bedroom. He’s mumbling and giggling and it makes Patty grins.

“Trashmouth! Come here,” Stan insists, tapping the couch in front of him. There isn’t a lot of space, but Richie does his best to sit on the edge of the sofa, patting Stan’s hair out of his face. Before he can even settle down, Stan grabs his waist and pulls him backward. The shriek that gets out of Richie’s throat startles Patty so much she comes running back into the living room. Richie’s trying in vain to get out of Stan’s grip, wiggling and laughing out loud. Finally, they settle next to one another. Patty wraps them in a blanket with an amused smile. 

“Looks like tonight is boys’ night, huh?” 

“I promise I’ll give him back tomorrow morning,” Richie grins in response, snuggling closer to Stan so he doesn’t fall off the couch. Stan’s still mumbling melodies in between giggles. It’s pretty clear he’ll regret it in the morning, but right now he seems really pleased with himself. 

“We have to go back there next week,” he declares with his eyes half-closed and a drunken smile on his lips. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the alcohol and the cold breeze outside. 

“Sure, baby,” Patty smirks while caressing her husband’s hair in a caring manner. “We’ll see if you still think it’s a good idea tomorrow,” Stan mumbles that he’s sure he will, and Richie giggles next to him. Patty stays with them for a few more minutes, her fingers tangled in Stan’s curls. Then she goes to bed, and Richie and Stan stay together on the couch. 

“Look, Stan, my feet are freezing.” And Richie jabs his cold toes on Stanley’s calves. 

“Get your dirty feet off of me, Trashmouth.” His tone is serious, but they’re both laughing. 

Again, memories unlock in Richie’s memory. He remembers countless sleepovers, remembers sharing a bed with Stan whenever the Urises were out of town. He also remembers the day his parents learned that Maggie’s father had passed. Richie was 9, maybe 10, and Maggie thought it would be too much for a kid so he stayed at Stan’s while his parents went to Florida for the funeral. He didn’t really know what death was, yet. It was an abstract concept but, even if he didn’t know his grandfather that well, he knew his mother was sad and that was enough for him to be sad too. He’d tried to put on a brave face at the Urises. And he’d succeeded… Until he was laying in bed next to Stan and, suddenly, his smile dropped. He wanted to cry, without really knowing why. Stan must have noticed he was too silent, because he murmured, “I’m sorry for your loss, Rich.” 

“I didn’t lose anything,” Richie answered, confused. 

“I mean— I’m sorry your grandfather’s dead.” 

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” 

And Richie turned around, couldn’t bear to face Stan. He felt ashamed, for some reason. Stan sat up behind him, turned the bedside light on. He was clearly waiting for Richie to react and, after breathing in and out a few times, he sat up too, his eyebrows raised. 

“My grandma died, a few years ago,” Stan started in a whisper. “I don’t really remember it now, but I know I was sad. Are you?” He seemed genuinely curious, and Richie felt his eyes sting again. He cleared his throat but didn’t find the strength to answer. Stan must have sensed it, because he continued, “It’s okay if you are. I cried a lot when she died. And I remember my parents made me go to her funeral, it was weird. Everyone was crying too.” Stan paused, tilted his head to try and catch Richie’s eyes. Finally, he concluded, “Richie, it’s okay if you wanna cry. I won’t make fun of you or anything.” 

“Shut up,” Richie hissed but, as soon as he opened his mouth, tears rolled down his cheeks. He turned around, his cheeks flushed with shame. He felt like he was about to throw up, all the tears he’d tried to hold back forming a lump in his throat. Stan had gently put his hands on his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. It didn’t take long for Richie to let go; Stan had always had this effect on him. Richie had cried for a few long minutes on Stan’s shoulder. And then, without another word, they’d gone to sleep. Stan didn’t talk about it in the morning either, and Richie was glad to see him act normally. He’d always thought of this moment as being the one where Stan went from being his friend to his best friend. 

“God… I fucking missed you, man,” Richie beams. Stan still has that dumb smile on his lips and it’s contagious because Richie’s grinning too now. 

“Missed you too, Rich.” 

————

XXII.

Richie wakes up a few minutes before Stan. They both sit up at the edge of the couch, their shoulders resting against one another. They’re silent, probably because both their heads are killing them. Thankfully, Patty made breakfast and left two glasses of water on the counter, as well as a few ibuprofens and a note saying « Hope my boys slept well! I’ll be back in the afternoon. Love you both <3 ». 

They eat together and Richie listens to Stan complain about his headache and about how he’s never drinking again. To seal the deal, he shows him the videos he took of him the previous night, and Stan’s whole face blushes while he tries to hide it with his hands. Richie laughs and plays back the moment where a random guy screams that he loves Stan and Stan answers “and I love YOU” with a confident wink. Finally, when he thinks Stan’s cheeks can’t get any redder, Richie puts his phone away.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, and all of a sudden, it’s Monday and Stan goes to work. He tells Richie to use his office as often as he wants as long as he doesn’t touch anything in his binders. So Richie tries to keep writing his new stuff, asks Patty for advice every now and then. There are some days where he’s all alone in the house, but it doesn’t feel that weird. He cooks and buys groceries and feels at home. Other days, he’s just with Patty and it feels like they’ve known each other forever. They watch sappy movies and go for walks in the neighborhood. Patty even convinces Richie to go jogging with her one morning; he doesn’t talk to her for the rest of the day and makes her promise to never trick him like that again. Stan does take a few days off every now and then, though. Or sometimes he brings some work home and they quietly sit in the office, both working on their own stuff but enjoying each other’s company. Without anyone really realizing it, another week has passed. And then two. And, suddenly, Richie’s been there for almost a month. 

That’s when they start talking about the past again. It comes slowly, gradually. First, it’s just little anecdotes involving the Losers: Bill’s trusty old bike, their awesome clubhouse, or Eddie’s ridiculous fanny pack. It’s harder to talk about Eddie, of course. And Stan knows that; he tiptoes around it, tries to bring him up casually. But, with some effort, Richie slowly opens up and can talk about their childhood without needing to puke. 

One evening, they’re both in the office working and Richie tries to write about where he is now and what his little self would think about it. It makes him wonder about the other losers and about where they are now. Obviously, little Stan would be proud of his adult self, Richie thinks. Stan pretty much has it all. He’s got an amazing wife, he’s successful at his job, and he’s got tons of hobbies he’s passionate about. _Stan the man,_ Richie smiles to himself. But what about the other losers, then? He thinks about Bev, who was the first to leave Derry behind. He kinda remembers seeing her a few times after she went to live with her aunt, but it’s blurry. 

“Stan, do you know where the other losers are? I mean, did you ever do any research?” Now that Richie thinks about it, he could just google one of the losers’ names. He would get an immediate answer. But he’s too scared and anxious to do so. 

“I didn’t do any research, no,” Stan nods, a bit thoughtful at the idea. “But I did come across Bill’s name in a library. He’s a writer, apparently.” 

“Really? Big Bill’s a writer? That’s fun.” 

“Yeah. Maybe we should buy one of his books, see if he’s any good. I’m sure he is.” 

“Maybe.” Richie feels uneasy at the idea, like he doesn’t want his memories of Bill to be attached to an actual person. “What about Bev?” 

“I don’t know.” Stan turns around in his desk chair to face Richie. He shoots a glance at his computer and raises his brows. Richie understands immediately and sets the laptop between the two of them. Sheepishly, he types her name. While the page loads, Richie’s heartbeat picks up. A beautiful redhead appears on the screen and a weird combination of relief and dread fills his throat. Apparently, Bev’s a fashion designer. She works with her husband and is actually quite well known, based on the numerous articles they find. 

“Damn, Bev’s almost more famous than you.” 

“She is!” 

They read quietly through a few articles, watch a few videos of her runway shows. Richie feels weirdly proud. He wants to hug her through the screen when they watch an interview. He thinks about everything she went through as a kid, how she confided in him a few times and looked really broken and scared, despite the strong front she put up… And now, she’s thriving. She deserves it all, he thinks. 

When they’re done reading pretty much everything they find, Stan suggests looking up another loser. Richie hesitates, but he’s scared he’ll puke again. He declines, fakes a smile, and leaves the office. He needs fresh air, he needs a cigarette. And, even if these two seem like opposites, he really feels like he needs them both. He almost feels drunk from thinking about Beverly living her life at the same time he’s living his. A little voice whispers other names in his ear, names he doesn’t want to think about… _One_ name he doesn’t want to think about. 

“You’re okay?” he didn’t hear Patty join him on the porch. She presses her lips into a smile. 

“Yeah, I’m just… remembering.” 

“It’s a good thing, right?” she seems confident, so Richie lets himself be convinced that it is in fact a good thing. Beverly’s laugh echoes in his mind. 

“Maybe it is.” 

“I think so. Since you came here, you and Stan seem to have grown, a lot.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Richie takes a drag of his cigarette. The tingle in his throat is comforting, the smell familiar. 

“Maybe we did, Pattycakes.” 

He puts his cigarette out in the little ashtray he bought a few days ago. It’s written « I love Atlanta » in big bold letters on the side. He puts his arms around Patty’s shoulder and they go back inside together. 

————

XXIII.

Richie’s alone in his bed and his mind is spiraling. He doesn’t really know why, but it doesn’t feel good. A few days passed since he and Stan googled Beverly. Everything seemed fine, but ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind is getting harder and harder and, finally, he breaks. 

_Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie._

The only thing he can think about besides that name is how much he needs a drink, something that would blur things out. His skin itches with the craving. He drags his laptop on top of him, notices it’s already 2am, and slowly types the name echoing in his mind. It feels like each key burns under his fingertips. 

_Eddie Kaspbrak._

It takes him a full minute to hit search. When he finally does, he’s not greeted with any pictures. The first link seems to be some kind of profile, so he clicks on it. Apparently, Eddie works for a firm in New York. He’s a risk analyst, which makes Richie laugh because it’s the most boring job he could ever think of. Eddie doesn’t have a profile picture and it makes Richie’s blood boil. But he’s in New York. In about two hours, Richie could be banging on his door. And the thought absolutely terrifies him. He feels himself dissociating from his body and, before he can register what’s happening, he’s digging through the cabinets of the kitchen to find some booze. There’s a cheap bottle of whiskey that feels out of place with the fancy liquors, so Richie takes it. He empties almost half of what was left inside in one gulp. His insides burn, and that’s exactly what he wanted. Burn the heartache away. His mind spins. _Eddie fucking Kaspbrak._ Just like it had with Bev, the thought of Eddie really being there hits Richie like a truck. Except this time, he doesn’t feel a soft melancholy, no. He feels fucking awful. He feels so awful he starts throwing up on the counter. The surprise makes him drop the bottle; it shatters loudly. The sound echoes like a gunshot in his head and, just like he’d actually been shot, he lets himself fall to the floor. His back slides against the counter and his hands press down on the glass shards. Maybe he pushes them even harder into the ground, who knows! Before he realizes it, the lights turn on and Stan enters the room. Richie thinks the noise probably woke him up. Of course it did! How fucking stupid could he have been… Before Stan even reaches him, he starts mumbling apologies over and over. 

“Holy fu— Shit!” He kneels down next to Richie to assess the situation.

“I’m fucking sorry Stan, I’ll— I’ll clean it up. I’m sorry, I really am.” 

“You’re okay, Rich. Fuck. You’re okay.” His lips press into a thin line and he looks past Richie. “Patty! Please come down.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Richie realizes he’s sobbing loudly. When he brings his hand to his face to wipe away the tears, Stan grabs his wrist firmly and Richie realizes his palms are bloody and still full of glass shards. Stan uses his free hand to wipe Richie’s face as best he can. His hands are shaking almost as much as Richie’s. 

“Stan, I’m— I’m a fucking mess, I’m sorry.” 

“Stop. Richie, are you hurt? Can you stand up?” 

“I— I just couldn’t help it and I googled him and then I lost it. I’m a mess. Fuck.” 

Stan’s worried face turns into an understanding smile for just a second, before sadness overtakes his features. He grabs Richie’s dirty face in his hands and pulls him in against his chest, stroking the hair away from his face and breathing in and out loudly so Richie can mimic the pattern. 30 years later, and Stan’s still hugging Richie’s pain away. 

“You stop fucking apologizing right now, okay?” Richie nods because he can’t talk anymore and hearing Stan swear is weirdly intimidating. Stan takes a step back, and Richie notices that his eyes are wet too. Patty comes in and gasps at the scene. The mix of blood and whiskey on the ground finally starts stinging on Richie’s maimed palms and he hisses when Stan picks the biggest shards away. A few seconds later, Patty’s at his sides with tweezers. 

“We need to rinse off the blood, I can’t see anything,” he hears her say in a grave voice. Slowly, Stan helps Richie up, never letting go of his shoulders. The cold water burns his hands. He realizes his shirt’s full of vomit and he wonders how his amazing hosts can even just stand next to him without gagging… He’s such a disgusting mess.

Patty and Stan take off his shirt like he’s a little kid, and they sit him down. He watches them silently, unable to even think for more than a second before crying again. Patty uses the tweezers to take the smaller shards of glass out of his palms; he barely feels it. Stan’s probably cleaning the awful mess in the kitchen, but Richie tries not to think about it, shame painfully bubbling in his stomach when he does. Instead, he focuses on Patty’s soft hands against his. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes once again, his throat hurting from the effort. When Patty looks up, he can see nothing but genuine concern and love in her eyes and he could start crying again just from that. How can she still be so calm and caring when he disrupted her life so badly… 

“It’s fine, Richie. You’re okay. Just stay still for me honey, alright? I’m almost done.” So he lets her take care of him, even if he knows he doesn’t deserve it. When Stan comes back, he sits down next to Richie and wraps an arm around his shoulders once again. Patty’s done bandaging up his hands and she brings him a glass of water, makes him chug it. She leaves quickly after that; she has to work in the morning. Stan’s supposed to work too, but he stays with Richie anyway. His arm is still wrapped around his shoulders and holding him confidently. He doesn’t say anything, just stays with him. 

“He’s in New York,” Richie mutters after a while. He feels Stan perk up beside him and he thinks he might have fallen asleep. He feels bad for waking him up, but Stan’s smile reassures him. 

“I’m glad he was able to leave Derry after all.” Stan squeezes Richie’s shoulder. He’s right, Richie thinks. He remembers how terrible Eddie’s mother was, and how she tried to control every little aspect of his life. Richie remembers leaving for college and having to say goodbye to Eddie. He doesn’t think about it too much, but he sees Eddie’s big doe eyes tearing up and his hands reaching for Richie’s, and that’s enough to make him cry again. He buries his nose in Stan’s neck, wraps his arms around him, and hangs on for dear life. And Stan hugs him back, of course. His fingers dig into Richie’s back, brush the hair away from his face. He whispers comforting words in Richie’s ear, tells him it’s okay. Little Stan’s voice echoes in his mind, “It’s okay if you wanna cry. I won’t make fun of you or anything”. And adult Stan is just as understanding, even more, maybe. So Richie cries his eyes out, sobs against his friend’s chest, and finally, falls asleep in his arms. 

————

XXIV.

Richie wakes up on the couch. He’s wrapped up in a blanket and there’s a glass of water on the coffee table. Thank god, because he’s got one of the worst headaches of his life. The previous night feels blurry, distant. But the cuts on his palms bring it all back. They’re all bandaged up and he can barely hold the glass of water to his lips without it slipping. 

Stan enters quietly and smiles when he notices Richie’s awake. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask how he’s doing or what the fuck he did the night before. And Richie’s grateful. Stan just sits down next to him and takes off the bloody bandages. 

“Sorry they were so thick,” Stan has the nerves to say. Richie’s astonished he’s not the first one to apologize. “Patty didn’t have any other bandages. I bought some this morning, though. This will feel better.” 

Richie’s palms look awful. They’re swollen and red and blue and he wonders what it would feel like to close them into a fist. Before he can try, Stan starts applying some antiseptic, which makes Richie hiss. 

“Don’t worry, Patty checked that none of the cuts were too deep. Your hands will be fine… It’s just gonna suck, for a few days.” And Richie just nods, because really there’s nothing else to do. Thinking about what happened a few hours earlier hurts. And thinking about how Stan and Patty took care of him so patiently hurts even more. 

“Maybe… maybe I should leave. I don’t— I don’t want to keep fucking up your life, you know?” Richie’s eyes immediately tear up. He doesn’t want to leave, _fuck no._ But he doesn’t want to ruin Stan’s life by forcing him to take care of him, so maybe this is the best thing to do after all. 

Stan’s hands freeze against Richie’s and his face goes blank. He seems to be thinking, his eyes piercing Richie painfully. Finally, he exhales and takes Richie’s bandaged hand in his. “If you want to go back to your life, I won’t stop you, Rich. I know you’ve got stuff of your own; your job, your fans, probably a lot of other things that I don’t know about. I get that, okay?” Stan’s lips press into a thin line. He licks them and, squeezing Richie’s fingers just a little bit, he continues, “But if you want to leave for my sake, don’t you fucking dare. Do you hear me, huh?” 

Stan’s voice is so bold, so sincere; it makes Richie’s chest tightens. He sniffs, the tears he’s holding back leaking through his nose. In a little voice he’s not used to, he answers, “I just keep fucking up and you— you keep having to t-take care of me. You and Patty, I mean. I’m a fucking mess and you keep having to clean it up.” 

“Taking care of you, it’s…” Stan speaks quickly, his eyes squinting in search of the words he’s looking for. Finally, his features relax and he smiles. “Taking care of you isn’t rotten work, Richie. Not if it’s you.” 

“Fuck, Stan,” Richie wails in response. “Can you stop being the best fucking friend I’ve ever had for five seconds?” 

Stan’s soft smile widens and his eyes are shiny. He laughs, “No way in hell!” 

“Okay then… I guess I’ll just have to try and be as good a friend as you are.” 

“Don’t have to try, you already are.” 

And Richie’s sobs get louder, echoed by Stan’s soft chuckles. 

————

XXV.

Stan was right: Richie’s hands heal quickly. In just a few days, bandages aren’t even needed anymore. His insides are still sore, though. His mind just as much as his body. Stan is always here for him, supporting him. He says they’ll get through this together, that they’ll get to the bottom of all this. Even he doesn’t exactly know what he’s talking about, but knowing that they’re in the same mess makes it a little bit better. 

About a week after _that_ night, Richie calls his manager again. He tells her about the new stuff he’s been working on, says he’s in a great work environment. She seems happy, if not a bit suspicious. She agrees to read some of his new sketches and he says he’ll send them as soon as he’s done with them. He also asks her to mail him some of his stuff. She didn’t even know he was in Atlanta, so that gets him a few yells in protest. It all works out, though. 

On the two months mark of him moving in with The Urises, Richie scores some weed. It’s not as easy as it is in LA, but he manages. The first time Richie smoked weed, he was with Stan and Bill at a party. He was 17 and, even if he only started smoking regularly in college, he remembers the first time pretty well. He remembers how red Stan’s eyes had become and how much they’d laughed. So weed seems like a good idea to celebrate. Patty’s onboard pretty much immediately and offers to try and bake edibles, but Richie’s already rolling a joint so they settle for that. Stan’s more skeptical, says he’ll just watch over them, that he’s too old to smoke weed. Eventually, of course, he breaks and takes a few drags as well. They watch TV and laugh at the commercials while eating pretty much everything left in the fridge. Stan’s eyes get just as red as they did the first time they smoked together. It makes Richie giggle a lot and he pokes his finger into Stan’s cheek. When Stan spins around to try and bite him, Richie’s giggles turn into crazy peals of laughter. Stan follows quickly and, pretty soon, they’re holding their stomach while they try to breathe again. When they look away from one another, they find Patty crying. Stan immediately leaps towards her, grabs her hand. 

“I’m okay,” she assures while smiling through her tears. “It’s so dumb; I’m just happy, you know. Happy we get to have moments like this.” 

Both Stan and Richie beam at her. Stan wraps his arms around her and Richie can’t resist joining the hug. He squeezes his friends as hard as he can, shakes them a little. 

“Family time is important, you know,” Patty adds while she wraps one of her arms around Richie’s waist. Pretty soon, she’s not the only one crying anymore. Stan grins when he sees the tears rolling down Richie’s cheeks, and this time he’s the one poking at them. Richie slaps his hand away with a groan that quickly turns to giggles. He’s happy. Happier than he’s ever been. And he’s with family, which he never thought would happen. 

————

XXVI.

Sally likes the new stuff Richie has been writing and it makes his heart almost explode. He barely slept since he sent some of his favorite parts to her, and her phone call feels like the best relief in the world. 

_“Not gonna lie, Rich, this is so different,”_ she says. Richie listens carefully, his heart in his throat. _“It’s so serious and adult and almost not trashy at all… I’m impressed. Really impressed! This is great.”_

“You really think so?” he manages to say without screaming into the phone. 

_“I really do, Tozier. I think this is good for you. I think it’s a great step up. And I’m glad you’re writing again.”_

“I— I think so too, Sal.” 

_“Honestly, whatever the fuck you’ve been doing since you left me without any news, it doesn’t seem as bad as I thought it was.”_

“Yeah, you should let me do what I want more often, right?” he smirks, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt from how excited he is. 

_“I wouldn’t say THAT,”_ she spits and Richie can almost _hear_ her eye roll. He chuckles and they agree to talk again soon to see if she can get him another contract. He’d have to come back to LA, though… But he doesn’t think about that, for now. Right now he’s happy and proud and all he wants to do is share the news with Stan and Patty, so he runs downstairs and almost yells.

Stan jumps on him, wraps him in a big hug. When he actually lifts him from the ground, Richie shrieks in surprise. Patty hops behind them, her hands partially hiding her smile. Richie’s chest burns, but in a good way; he feels loved, appreciated, and most of all, understood. He can’t believe just a few months ago, he was alone in his too-big apartment, probably drinking or smoking in his dirty bed. And now he’s wrapped up in yet another group hug. All those years of being fucking touched starved seem so far away from him. 

That night, they go back to that bar they went to the first week Richie moved in (even if they didn’t know he was actually moving in, at the time). It’s as much fun as they remembered. Stan’s careful and he doesn’t drink as many fruity cocktails as he did the last time. It’s Patty’s turn to be tipsy. She giggles while sucking on the straw of her third (or was it fourth?) cocktail. On their way back, Richie carries her on his back. 

“You’re so taaaall,” she mumbles, her cheek squished on his shoulder. 

“And you’re so tinyyyy,” he mimics back. Patty giggles and she swings her legs a little. 

“She’s not that tiny,” Stan smiles, looking up at her. 

His wife gasps and takes her cheek off of Richie to glare down at Stan. “Are you saying I’m too heavy for you to carry me, is that it?” Her seriousness quickly turns to drunken giggles. 

“Of course not, babylove.”

“Then why am I the one who’s carrying her?” Richie interrupts in a grin. 

Stan leans towards his friend and looks up. In a mocking but amused tone, he repeats, “Cause you’re so taaaall.” 

————

XXVII.

It’s been three months. Richie moved in three months ago and, even if he remembers the day like it was yesterday, his life before all this feels so distant. He barely remembers what his fucking apartment looks like! This is home, right here. 

“Can you believe it’s been three months?” 

“I absolutely can’t,” Patty shakes her head, wide-eyed. She’s cooking while Richie cuts carrots next to her. “I mean: how is it possible that we met only three months ago?” 

“Right?!” Richie raises his hand, the knife moving dangerously close to Patty’s arm. She glares at him but smiles when he mouths a little “sorry” to her. He continues, “How the fuck did I live without having freaking Patty Uris-Bloom in my life, huh?” She nods again, a cute little smirk on her lips. Richie throws a piece of carrot at her and she catches it, surprising them both. 

The front door opens and a cliché and cheesy “Honey, I’m home!” can be heard. Richie and Patty giggle and Stan enters the room with a big and satisfied smile on his face. 

“Hi baby,” Patty answers when he arrives near them. 

“Oh, sorry. I was talking to Richie,” he grins while she fakes a gasp. 

“Finally, my love potion is working!” Richie laughs and blows a kiss at Stan with a wink. Stan winks back and turns around to kiss Patty before bumping Richie’s shoulder with his. 

This all feels so fucking domestic and Richie can almost puke from how sweet it is. He could literally get cavities from it, he thinks. But cavities mainly come from good things, like candy, right? And if this isn’t the best fucking thing that has ever happened to him… So yeah, he’ll gladly take the cavities. 

They eat dinner and laugh and life is fucking good. It really is. Stan follows Richie outside when he goes for a smoke. They’re sitting on the lounge chairs that stay here all year round. They’re damp from the rainy afternoon, but neither of them seems to care. Stan avoids the smoke discreetly, too eager to spend time with his friend to really care about his clothes smelling of cold cigarettes. 

“Remember your first cigarette?” Stan asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. Richie nods, waits for Stan to continue. After a smile, he does, “We were at a party at Bill’s, I think. Bev went to the balcony to smoke and you followed. And I did too, cause I guess I was curious. And you coughed SO MUCH.” 

“Come on, I didn’t really cough.” 

“Bullshit! You coughed so much your whole fucking face turned crimson, Rich. And you didn’t even finish the cigarette.”

“My head was spinning like crazy, man. I felt like I was gonna puke.” 

“Yeah, and I thought you were really going to. Your cheeks turned from red to fucking white as soon as you stopped coughing. You were such a dumb kid.” 

“Fuck you, you were just as dumb.” 

They laugh and Stan defies Richie with a raise of his eyebrows. In response, he loudly blows his smoke towards him, and Stan’s nose wrinkles as he tries in vain to dodge it. 

After a little pause, Stan continues his story, “And then you went back inside, and you smelt like a fucking ashtray.” 

“Is the goal of this story to make me feel like shit?” Richie smirks, but Stan barely acknowledges him because he knows it’s just sarcasm. 

“You smelt like a fucking ashtray and Eddie roasted the shit out of you.” Richie actually smiles, despite the sudden burning feeling in his stomach. It’s been a while since he let himself think about Eddie Kaspbrak. But, this time, it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. It’s like someone’s pinching him; it’s uncomfortable, but not painful. Maybe it’s because Stan’s there to support him through it. Somehow, he even finds some kind of satisfaction from thinking about little Eddie’s angry fucking face. He remembers the frenzied look on his face when he smelt smoke on Richie, how fucking loud he’d screamed while grabbing at Richie’s jacket. It was violent and vocal, but it meant that Eddie cared at least a little… And, again, that was enough for Richie. 

“Eddie always roasted the shit out of me,” Richie confirms with a smile that seems to reassure Stan, lets him know that it’s okay to talk about it. 

“Yeah, you both roasted the shit out of each other all the fucking time; it was exhausting!” 

“It’s called tough love, Stan!” 

“It’s called being a stupid and confused kid and not knowing how to express your feelings,” Stan bursts out in a quick sentence. His smile drops when what he just said downs on him. They haven’t talked about Richie and Eddie yet. Well, they have. But never like that, never while addressing the obvious truth of Richie’s feelings towards his childhood best friend… And Richie can see the apprehension on Stan’s face. He can see how nervous he is to see how Richie will react to his blunt statement. But, before he even can, Stan adds, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. That’s not fair.” 

Richie smiles sincerely at his friend because _fuck it_. Fuck beating around the bush every time they talk about their childhood, fuck being nervous every time they talk about their dating life because Richie doesn’t know what Stan knows and what he doesn’t… Fuck it all. Richie can’t take it anymore. He trusts Stan more than he’s trusted anyone in his whole life and, for maybe the first time, he feels like he’s welcomed (encouraged, even) to be himself. He’s ready. 

“Maybe, but it’s true. I…” Richie pauses, glances at Stan who’s watching him intently. He takes a deep breath, and as if it’s just a normal sentence, he continues, “Being a queer kid in fucking rural Maine was the fucking worst.” 

Stan doesn’t look shocked. And of course he doesn’t: he knew! Stan knew all along and Richie knew that. But actually saying it out loud still feels different. It feels… Fuck, it feels empowering. Stan smiles at him and Richie could fucking cry from how new being himself feels.

“I—“ Richie does his best to keep going seriously, but a fucking grin is threatening to stretch his lips, “I just— Fuck. Stan, I’m bisexual. Or maybe gay, I don’t really— I haven’t figured it out entirely yet. I don’t know how to label it, it’s just— Yeah.” 

Richie’s cheeks blush and Stan does his best to suppress a smile. “How about you just don’t label it, huh? That’s okay too, Rich.” They nod at each other for a few seconds; Richie has totally forgotten the cigarette hanging from his hand. “I’m really fucking proud of you right now.” 

Richie chuckles nervously, but the smile on his lips is sincere. “Thanks, Stanny.” 

Stan stands up and grabs Richie’s shoulder. “Come here before I start crying.” They hug and Richie swears he hears Stan sniff in the crook of his neck. When they step back, they’re both tearing up a little and they laugh, Stan’s hand still holding Richie’s arm. “Is it because I was your first kiss? You can tell me, Rich. I know I’m a good kisser.” 

Richie rolls his eyes, briefly remembering the quick kiss they had exchanged when they were kids. Richie had said it wasn’t his first kiss, but he’d come clean later in life. He laughs, “No, no. That’s actually the reason why it took me so long to make my peace with it. Kissing you haunts me, Stanley.” 

“I get that a lot.” 

They both laugh and, finally, head back inside. When Richie’s laying in bed later that night, he feels lighter. He can’t stop thinking about what just happened and, even if he thinks he could’ve found a better way to deliver that news, the moment felt perfect anyway. Stan was being Stan and, for once, Richie was _really_ being Richie too. 

————

XXVIII.

It’s been a little more than four months when Richie gets the long-awaited call from his manager.

 _“Richie fucking Tozier, I hope you’re sitting down for this.”_ He wasn’t, but he listens to her advice. On the edge of his bed, he chews on his nails while pressing the phone against his ear. _“Okay so, not only did I found a fucking producer that could get you to tour with your new material, but FUCKING NETFLIX wants to film it.”_

Richie needs to puke. What the actual fuck. Scratching his throat, he asks, “Sally why the fuck is Netflix interested in my stuff?”

_“Apparently the producer, Martin Lee, worked with them on a few projects and he pitched the idea. I made him read the stuff you sent me and he was astonished. He said it was so different from your public image that it would be a great subject for a series. The real Richie, you know? Following you on tour and seeing what your life is like.”_

Richie tastes bile in the back of his throat and his fingers start shaking. He cannot fucking do this. He likes performing, he likes seeing people laugh… But he doesn’t know how he’ll react to a fucking camera following him around, to the whole fucking world (or at least the people that will actually watch the show) entering his life. And shit: what if no one watches it? He hasn’t done a show in four months and he’s not fucking ready to go through such a big change all of a sudden. 

“Sally I’m not... I’m not a fucking reality star or whatever. I don’t want people to see what my life is like.” 

Silence. _Fuck._

_“What the fuck, Richie? You can’t turn down this opportunity.”_

“Yet, I fucking am.”

_“Think about this!”_

“I am, Sal!” 

_“Why did you write this stuff if you don’t want people to get a look at the real you?”_

He’s so stressed out he feels his stomach turn. “The stuff I wrote is just that, Sally: writing. Even if it’s based on my life. I don’t want fucking Netflix to follow me around like I’m a Kardashian or I don’t know. How is that hard to understand?”

_“Richie, I just—”_

He can’t take it anymore so, in the calmest tone he’s able to fake, he interrupts, “Listen, Sal. I’m thrilled you can get me on tour again, okay? I’m really grateful and I want to do it. But that’s it, at least for now. Is that okay? Maybe we could talk about a tv-show later, but for now, I just want to perform.”

_“That opportunity might never present itself again, Rich.”_

“Well if it doesn’t, it fucking doesn’t, then! It wasn’t meant to be or some shit.”

 _“Right,”_ she laughs, but the sarcasm is clear in her voice, _“because now you believe in that kind of stuff. Destiny or whatever.”_

“Maybe I do.”

And, to be honest, maybe he fucking does. Richie hangs up and starts crying. He knows how many comedians would kill for a deal like this, knows how influential Netflix is with today’s audiences. He’s already pretty famous, but that could send his career into something worldwide! Yet, all he wants to do is perform for an audience, actual people he can see and hear. 

“Richie?” Patty knocks on his door and he realizes his sobs might have been a little loud. They stop abruptly, he sniffs to try and clear the snot on his face. He tells her she can come in, that it’s nothing, he’s fine. Of course, just like Stan, she knows when he’s lying. She sits next to him and presses her head against his shoulder. It already makes him feel better. Patty has this way of making people feel like they need to be strong just by being near them. 

“Sally got me a producer,” he explains softly. She waits because, clearly, as great as this sounds, there’s something else. “They want to film me on tour, too. So my whole life would be exposed on fucking Netflix. I— I said no. I know it’s a great opportunity but I just— I can’t. It’s too stressful. Am I a fucking idiot for turning this down?” 

She smiles, kisses his shoulder. “Of course not. Boundaries are important, even more so when you’re famous. It’s okay to protect your personal life.” It’s all he needed to hear. He nods, kisses Patty’s forehead. 

He realizes that, four months ago, he might have accepted that deal because _fuck it,_ he had no idea how boundaries worked. Four months ago, he also wouldn’t have been able to write anything about his childhood. All those things are thanks to Stan and Patty. He’s changed so much, it’s almost unbelievable. 

The next day, he calls Sally back and they both seem to have calmed down. They talk about the tour and she barely brings up the Netflix series. It’s gonna last a month and a half, maybe two. Richie insists on starting on the west coast (maybe because he wants to avoid New York for as long as possible), and says he doesn’t care about the venues, but there needs to be a show in Atlanta. He’ll have a few weeks to rehearse his material, and then the first show will be in LA. Sally asks Richie when he’s coming back, maybe he’d like to rehearse some stuff with her, but he declines. He says he’ll come back when he has to and hangs up. 

When he goes down to the living room, there’s a strange feeling in his stomach. He’s happy about what they’ve decided; he’s satisfied to finally be using his own material… But when he sees Stan’s smile, he understands that this is the first time he really has something else than work in his life. He didn’t care about tours when he didn’t have a home to come back to… But this, _them_ … it’s his place. 

He decides not to say anything about the plans he made for his tour yet. He can’t. They eat dinner like they always do, and Richie goes for a smoke before helping Stan with the dishes. A normal evening in their well-oiled routine. 

————

XXIX.

When the news about his tour finally falls, Stan is nothing but ecstatic. He cheers and opens a bottle of champagne and they celebrate. It’s a fun evening, like most are. 

Without thinking, Richie jokes, “Jeez Stan, it’s almost like you’re happy to see me go back to LA, huh?” And that’s when he realizes that his friend hadn’t really thought about that yet. Stan’s tipsy little grin drops in a soft gasp. Richie bites his bottom lip; how fucking stupid could he be. Doing his best to smile sincerely, he adds, “But I made sure to have a show in Atlanta. You won’t get rid of me so easily, Staniel.” But even if he laughs, Richie knows his friend can see right through him. He knows Richie is just as heartbroken to leave as Stan is to see him go. They have this kind of unspoken bond; they smile through teary eyes at each other and they just know. 

After dinner, Stan follows Richie out again. He kind of got used to the after-dinner outings and he likes the fresh air. Richie’s hardly ever alone to smoke now. This time, the atmosphere’s tenser than it usually is. 

“So, going back to LA, huh?”

“Not really. LA’s the first city I perform in, but I won’t be there for long.”

“And after— I mean,” Stan clears his throat, “After your tour?”

Richie turns around. He needs to see Stan’s face, needs to know what he’s really asking. Thankfully, he’s met with what he expected. Stan’s looking up at him with a worried face, but his eyes seem hopeful, almost pleading. Richie smiles at him. 

“I don’t know, Stan the man. Depends on you and your wifey, I guess. Maybe you’ll realize how peaceful a life without a Trashmouth is when I’m on tour, huh?” 

Stan rolls his eyes and it’s the best fucking thing Richie’s ever seen. He puts his cigarette out, and without even having to think about it (again: unspoken bond), hugs Stan as tightly as he possibly can. 

“I hope you suck so you’ll come back early,” he whispers in Richie’s ear. 

“Me too.”

When they step back, Stan concludes, “I know you’re gonna be fucking awesome.” 

Richie shrugs, his cheeks blushing a little. They’re heading back inside when Richie continues, “You’ll just have to come and see my Atlanta show to find out.” 

“You’ll just have to look in the front row,” Stan winks in response. 

————

XXX.

Richie starts working day and night. He feels fulfilled by his work again, which hasn’t happened in a long time. He works on Sally’s notes, performs pretty much his whole set in front of Stan and Patty. At night, he writes and smokes and feels like a fucking mad and tortured writer. He sleeps during the day but, to be honest, he barely sleeps at all. Patty makes him tea whenever she can (because she insists it’s better than the litters of coffee he’s drinking), and Stan’s office pretty much becomes Richie’s. The rhythm might not be the healthiest, but it works for him. He’s used to living off not enough sleep and too much coffee. 

Writing about the losers is hard, but it’s also eye-opening. It’s like every time he puts his thoughts on paper, he unlocks a new (or rather old) memory. It all starts to make more and more sense. He remembers that when Eddie broke his arm, his mom forbade him from seeing the losers again. A kind of anger takes over him then, like he’s still not over Eddie being grounded. Thinking about Mrs. Kaspbrak is weird, creates some kind of knot in his stomach. He deeply hates this woman, even if he doesn’t remember much about her. He decides to start writing about her abuse but ends up deciding it’s not his story to tell. It’s Eddie’s and he wouldn’t dare steal something from the man he loves. 

_Loves?_

Richie’s mind instantly starts spiraling. How the fuck could he be in love with someone he hasn’t seen in more than 20 years? Not to mention he only started remembering Eddie a few months ago! No, it’s impossible. He loved Eddie, maybe. A long time ago and in what seems to be in another life. Yes, that’s it. He loved Eddie. That’s all it is. Childhood crushes and whatnot. 

“You okay?” Stan asks, a pencil dangling from his lips. The glasses on the tip of his nose make his eyes look bigger and Richie can read the concern in them. They’re both working in the office and he must have noticed Richie’s sudden mood change. 

“Yeah, fine. I think I just need a break. You hungry?” 

They go down and eat some toasts in the kitchen (Richie’s toast is probably more like 80% butter and 20% toast, and Stan rolls his eyes at him). When they go back to the office, everything’s back to normal. 

A few days later, something big happens. Richie doesn’t know how, but Stan manages to get him a little gig at that bar they’ve grown to like more and more. The owner is delighted to have Richie perform. It’s mostly improvised and rushed and a little messy, but people are laughing and clapping and that’s everything Richie had hoped for. Stan and Patty’s laughs are the only ones he really hears, though. He feels so fucking good on that stage. He’d forgotten how much he liked to perform with his own material. 

“Well guys, I think that’s all I have for tonight,” he finally concludes, sweat dripping from his upper lip. “Again, I’m Richie Trashmouth Tozier, and it’s been a pleasure to humiliate myself in front of you for the last hour. If for some reason you like what you heard, I’ll be on tour in a few months so maybe come by so you can laugh at me again, huh? (he gestures to the owner of the bar) Thanks for having me tonight.” 

When he gets off the stage, people cheer. They shake his hand when he passes them, ask for pictures. Richie has never liked being famous as much as he does right now. And the feeling intensifies when he sees Stan and Patty, who greet him with a beer. He almost chugs it and burps for good measure. 

“So, how much did you hate it?” he asks in a smirk. Both Patty and Stan chuckle. 

“It was so awful.” 

“Yeah,” Patty insists, “truly terrible.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t go on tour after all.” 

“Oof, Staniel,” Richie sighs with a shy grin on his lips. He takes a sip of Stan’s beer. “Maybe you’re right.” 

They stay for about an hour; the owner even offers them beers (“On the house, Trashmouth!”). People keep congratulating Richie and telling him what a great performance it was, how relatable he is. He’s never smiled this hard. 

When they finally go home, they all end up staying in the living room. They watch dumb shit on TV and Richie does impressions of the people on the screen, which makes Patty laughs so hard she falls off the couch. They end up watching a movie and, before they’re even halfway through it, they all fall asleep against one another. When he wakes up during the night, Richie’s greeted by Stan’s relaxed face. He’s holding onto Richie’s shoulder, his fingers firmly clamped around his biceps. He cherishes the touch, thinks about how it might go away pretty soon. Suddenly, almost like an answer to his thoughts, Stan’s forehead furrows, and his nose crinkles. He whispers a soft, “Don’t.” And Richie almost wants to wake him up because of how scared he looks. Instead, he wraps one large hand around Stan’s fingers, sets his head on top of his friend’s curly and messy hair, and goes back to sleep. 

————

XXXI.

After about another month, it finally happens. 

Richie has to leave Atlanta. 

It’s not the start of his tour yet, but he has to sign a few official things in person and needs to arrange a few of the details. He just has to leave for three days, but it’s still scary. He’s almost about to book a hotel when he remembers that he actually has an apartment in LA. _His_ apartment. He barely remembers what it looks like, to be honest. He’s more anxious to go back to his own place than he was when he came to Atlanta for the first time. 

Patty stays at home while Stan drives him to the airport. She says she knows she’ll cry if she comes with them, so she’d rather stay home and keep busy. Richie does his best to smirk, answers that it will just be a few days. They both know he feels the same way she does. 

“So, this is it,” Stan says as he parks the car. Richie wasn’t expecting him to, but he gets out of the vehicle. It makes it all feel a lot more solemn; Richie bites the inside of his cheeks. 

“Why do I feel like a teenager leaving for college?” he smiles. 

Stan walks around the car and puts his hands on Richie’s shoulder. “Be good and don’t do drugs, son. I mean, except if it’s pot, in which case that’s fine.” 

They both laugh. Stan’s impression isn’t that bad, to be honest. And is it really an impression after all? He’s been taking such good care of Richie for the last few months… He’s gonna miss that, in LA. But he has to go, so he hugs Stan. 

“I’ll see you in just a few days, alright?”

“Yes, mom.” 

“Beep beep.” 

“Oh, it’s been a while since the last time you beeped me, huh!? Feels like a good omen.” 

“Yeah, I almost thought you’d become a fully functioning adult thanks to my influence. Apparently, I was mistaken and you’re still a stupid teenager.” 

“Always will be, Staniel.” 

And, with a wink, Richie turns around and forces himself not to look back until he’s passed the airport’s gate. 

When he arrives in LA, he’s surprised by the heat. Sure, he knew it was coming, but it’s still a shock when he walks down the airplane’s stairs. Sally’s here to greet him when he gets out of the baggage claim. She has a little sign that says « Trashmouth ».

“Fuck, it’s been so long!” she exclaims when she pulls him into a quick hug. He nods. 

The drive to his apartment is silent. Richie looks out the window at a city he doesn’t recognize as his own. Everything feels slightly out of place and his whole body itches. He closes his eyes, tries not to think about home. 

“Richard fucking Tozier, what the fuck?” 

They’ve just entered his flat and a nauseating smell greets them violently. It’s sour and Richie feels like he can taste it in the back of his throat. He suddenly remembered that he left for Atlanta in quite a hurry. And he also remembers that, when he lived alone, he didn’t really care about his place being a mess… So multiple unfinished dishes are laying around pretty much everywhere, flies buzzing around like they own the place (and, to be honest, they kind of do). Sally gags so Richie leaps into the mess to open the windows. He finds a plastic bag that doesn’t reek too much and stuffs as much junk as he can in it. When he gets to the bedroom, the state of his bed makes him laugh nervously. How the fuck could he have been sleeping in this shit? Candy wrappers are scattered on the sheets and Richie can’t help but notice that they haven’t been changed in months. The Uris’s clean and fragrant guest bedroom crosses his mind, and he’s immediately homesick. _Just a few days,_ he tells himself. 

After a few meetings, Richie accepts Sally’s offer to have dinner together. He doesn’t really want to go out, but being alone in his apartment seems like the worse option of the two. 

“Can I know more about what you’ve been doing for the past few months?” Sally finally asks, and it’s clear she’s been waiting all day long. Her eyes shine with curiosity. 

“I reconnected with an old friend.” 

“That’s it? That’s why you moved to fucking Atlanta out of nowhere?” She almost sounds pissed that the reason for his disappearance isn’t something more interesting… Richie wants to ask her how she knows about Atlanta, but he figures it must be pretty easy to track him down, so he doesn’t. 

“I know it sounds weird, but it’s the truth. That guy was practically like my brother, so it’s been a lot.” 

Sally calms down when she notices how honest and calm Richie is. He wasn’t like that before he left, couldn’t open up and be sincere, even about mundane things. In a soft voice, she continues, “What made you lose touch if you were so close?” And that is a good question. A question Richie has avoided for the past months. As much as he started remembering, he simply can’t understand how he would’ve forgotten in the first place. He shrugs and says something about how time flies and people change. 

Later that night, alone in his stinky apartment, Richie does his best not to feel awful. Of course, it doesn’t work. Again, everything feels uneasy and the itch is back. He changed the sheets (thank god), so at least it doesn’t smell as bad as it used to when they walked in. He wants to call Stan so badly… He sent him a text when he arrived, but that’s pretty much the only interaction they have had since then. Until, suddenly, his phone buzzes. It’s like they can read his fucking mind. Patty’s name appears in the group chat they set up a few months ago; the group name is « The Three Musketeers ». 

Pattycakes - How’s our LA boy doing? :) 

Richie - awful, can i please come home?

Pattycakes - :((( 

Pattycakes - Just two more days!!! <3 

Richie - yeah, thank god 

Richie - my apartment stinks 

Stan the man - No surprises there… ;) 

Richie - don’t be all cute and mean, it makes me miss u even more 

Pattycakes - Awww!!! 

Stan the man - Miss you too man! 

They talk for a few more minutes and, when they finally all decide to go to bed, Richie falls into a deep sleep almost instantaneously. 

The next two days go by pretty fast. Sally scheduled quite a lot of meetings to get everything ready for his tour, and Richie also makes some plans to sublet his flat (once he’s done cleaning it, of course). He gets a look at the posters for his show, and it makes him really proud. It looks more refined than the previous posters of his face he’d seen. It’s a picture of him in front of a white background; he’s laughing and looking to the side. Next to him, there’s the title of his show in the same aqua color as the shirt he’s wearing in the picture, « Richie Trashmouth; it gets personal! ». He takes a quick shot of it and sends it to the group chat; it doesn’t take long for the Urises to answer. 

Pattycakes - So handsome!!! 

Stan the man - Is that photoshopped? ;) 

He smiles at his phone and tells Sally that the poster is great; they should put it on a bus or something weird like that. Maybe a park bench, like he’s a realtor? Sally says she’ll see what she can do. 

Before he knows it, he’s on the doorstep of his apartment, ready to leave. Sally agreed to take Richie’s stuff to his storage unit and to sublet his apartment, even if she thinks it’s such a weird idea. So here he is, all packed up and ready to go! In the doorway of his apartment, he doesn’t feel any nostalgia whatsoever. He’s lived there for many years, basically since he finished college, but it doesn’t really mean anything. He’s never been happy here, at least not as much as he is now. So he closes the door without an ounce of remorse and walks away. 

When Sally hugs hind goodbye at the airport, he does his best to ignore the “See you soon, Rich” she whispers in his ear. 

————

XXXII.

The reunion is a good one, of course. Both Patty and Stan are waiting for Richie at the airport, and he dives in their arms, knowing they won’t let him fall. When they get home, they eat dinner and talk about his trip and how weird it was to be back in LA. Richie doesn’t realize it yet, but the itch that was bothering him in California is gone. 

Just a few days later, Richie comes back home from a random outing to find the Urises in the living room. Stan’s reading the paper and Patty’s on her phone. They greet him with a smile, but Richie looks distressed. 

“What’s up?” Stan frowns, the paper dropping into his lap. He’s always been more observant than others, especially when it comes to Richie. 

“Guys I’ve, huh… I’ve got something to talk to you about.” Richie scratches his neck and both Stan and Patty are anxiously looking at him now. They don’t say anything, but their eyes are full of questions and worry. Richie continues, “It’s kind of a big deal, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner.” 

“Rich,” Stan breathes, “what is it? You’re kind of scaring me, man.” Patty looks just as worried as her husband. She’s on the edge of her seat, both physically and theoretically. Her eyes scan Richie in search of a hint, anything that could tell her more about the situation. 

“Okay, here it goes.” He takes a deep breath, looks down at his feet, and back at his friends. “I’m a father.” 

Silence. 

A surprised chuckle escapes Patty’s throat as she turns to her husband to see what his reaction is. Stan’s face is stuck in some kind of half shocked and half relieved pout. His eyes are wide open and his lips move slightly, but no sounds escape them. 

Finally, he clears his throat and asks, “You mean you have a kid?” 

Richie nods, a soft smile appearing on his lips almost shyly. “Yeah, and I thought it was time for you guys to meet her.” 

Patty’s eyes start watering as she repeats “Her?” in an overwhelmed voice. Richie nods again, the smile widening. He walks to the hall and Stan and Patty both stand up awkwardly, stress deepening their features. They can hear Richie struggle in the hall and, before he comes back into the living room, he calls, “I would like you guys to meet my daughter.” 

When he comes back with a cat carrier, Stan falls backward onto the couch, his face immediately buried in his hands. Richie doesn’t know if he’s crying or laughing, but either way, he’s satisfied with his little show. 

“Here she isssss,” he smirks while putting the crate in front of their faces. 

Patty slaps his arm, “Fuck you! I got so nervous oh my god. I was literally crying, Richie!” He laughs and apologizes and Patty eventually starts smiling again. Stan is still holding his face in his hands. 

“Sooo, I would like you to meet my darling daughter, Her Majesty Grizabella.” The cat inside the kennel meows right then, as if they’d practiced this little entrance. 

“Are you kidding me?” Stan sighed, half annoyed and half amused. He shook his head at Richie’s dumb grin. 

“What? She needed a home! Look at her cute little face, Stanny! LOOK AT IT.” Richie opens the hatch to let the cat out, but she just pokes her head out and goes back in. She’s all grey and her eyes are a deep shade of green. And she is pretty damn cute. 

“Aww, hi Grizabella,” Patty cheers in a surprisingly high voice. 

“Pattycakes,” Richie interrupts, “Her name is _Her Majesty Grizabella_. I wasn’t kidding about that, you gotta say the whole name.” 

Patty rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but keep trying to pet the cat. She whispers to her, blows her kisses, and is pretty much already in love with the grey little beast. 

“Come on guys, can we keep her?” Richie gives them his best pleading doe eyes. “I’ll take all the responsibilities, okay? I’ll walk her and all that shit.” 

“She’s not a dog, Rich.” 

“Whatever, you know what I mean.” 

Stan sighs, but Patty joins Richie and makes her best doe eyes at her husband; she even bats her eyelashes a little. 

“If she even _tries_ to eat one of the birds that come to our backyard, she’s going back,” Stan dictates, his finger pointing accusingly at Richie whose grin widens. 

“I promise your precious little birds will stay safe and sound, Staniel. Her Majesty Grizabella only eats canned food. She’s a queen, after all.” 

In reality, Her Majesty is a stray cat that Richie adopted from a shelter he found online. It wasn’t really a spontaneous decision, to be honest. Richie has been looking at cats online for quite a few weeks. Not only had he always wanted a pet, but he also secretly thought this would be a good thing to do before his tour… If Stan and Patty were looking after Richie’s cat, they couldn’t really forget about him, could they? So he’d drove down to the shelter and, after playing with kittens for about an hour, he decided to adopt an older cat (he didn’t feel responsible enough to care for a little baby and, on top of that, giving an older animal a home felt like a good thing to do). He’d immediately fallen in love with the little diva who was sleeping in a bed in the shape of a princess' castle. The tips of her ears were white and, quite frankly, this was enough cuteness for Richie to seal the deal. 

And so here she is, the newest addition to the Uris-Bloom-Tozier household! And Her Majesty Grizabella fits right in. It takes her a few hours to actually get out of the carrier, but once it’s done she’s the most curious little lady ever. She trots around the living room, meows, and smells everything she encounters. Richie and Patty follow her around like groupies, swooning every time she makes a sound or looks at them. Stan acts like he doesn’t care, but he can’t suppress the smile off his face when she jumps on the sofa to smell his fingers. When she licks the back of his hand, a little “aww” actually escapes his lips. In just a few days, Her Majesty looks like she’s always been here. Richie goes out and buys pretty much every cat-related item he can find in the store, and he sets up the biggest cat tree in his room. He’s heartbroken when he realizes that Her Majesty Grizabella actually likes to sleep with Stan rather than him. 

“It’s just cause you’re playing hard to get,” he tells him when Stan gloats about Her Majesty sleeping in his lap. “You don’t give her attention so she craves it. But one day she’ll realize I’m the one who _actually_ cares about her, you’ll see.” 

The only response he gets is a _“How mad are you right now, huh?”_ in a joyful tone. Stan’s grin stretches from one of his ears to the other, and Richie rolls his eyes at him. 

Eventually, Her Majesty Grizabella ends up being shortened to either Her Majesty or Grizzy, which are simply easier. Richie still makes it a big deal to call her by her _real_ name every time he feeds her, though. Because apparently, it’s important for her to “remember her roots”. 

The arrival of Grizzy is exciting and changes their routine just a little bit. They have to learn not to let food out on the counter and they discover that Her Majesty LOVES to look people dead in the eyes while they’re on the can… All these little discoveries take their mind off the big change that’ll happen soon. Maybe if they don’t think about it, Richie won’t have to leave after all? 

One night, Richie goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water and discovers Stan on the sofa, with Grizzy on his chest. His glasses are still on the tip of his nose. The cat is using Stan’s chin as a pillow and, honestly, it’s the cutest thing Richie has ever seen. He takes a picture of it and immediately sends it to Patty. In less than a minute, she joins him in the living room and they watch the unlikely (but insanely adorable) duo together. Richie sets the picture as Stan’s contact picture. Patty tries to take another one, but the flash she forgot to turn off wakes up both the cat and her husband. 

“Sorry honey, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she giggles softly while she passes a hand in Stan’s hair.

“What’s happening?” he mumbles incoherently, his eyes tired and hooded. 

“ _This_ is happening,” Richie chuckles while pointing to Grizzy who’s snuggling in Stan’s neck again, already snoring softly. 

“So what? I like the cat!” Stan admits in an angry whisper, as to not wake up Grizzy. Both Patty and Richie are giggling, and, of course, Stan rolls his eyes at them. 

————

XXXIII.

But their happiness is short-lived and, two little weeks later, Richie has to leave again. 

On their last evening together, they don’t go out; Richie wants his friends just for himself. He wants to stay home and cook and make them laugh without anyone around. And that’s exactly what they do. Even if everything’s perfect, it’s pretty clear no one can truly enjoy the moment without thinking about what will happen in just a few hours. Every laugh, every smile, every eye roll… _What if it was the last?_ Richie knows he’s coming back. He knows that. Yet, he can’t seem to stop the _what if’s_ echoing in his mind. 

“I have a gift,” Stan says once they’re done eating.

Richie’s cheeks immediately start blushing. He wipes his mouth and his fingers (homemade pizzas are quite messy). “You have a gift? Stan, what the fuck?” 

“Of course I have a gift, dipshit. You’re going on tour, this is awesome.” And so Stan presents a little wrapped package in front of Richie, who stares at it intensely, as if he could open it with his gaze. When Stan gives him a little nod, he actually starts unwrapping the gift. He discovers a very classy leather wallet and, as he admires it, Stan continues, “You’re always carrying your change in your pocket and your credit cards are scattered across the apartment… So I thought that this could be useful.” A silent smile from Richie tells him that _yes, it is useful (and beautiful and so fucking Stan that Richie could cry)._ Stan whispers, “Open it,” with an excited grin. So Richie does. And, in the transparent case next to the coin pouch, Richie finds a picture of the three of them. Or rather the _four_ of them, since it’s a selfie Patty took on the day that Richie adopted Grazzy. They look so happy… A happy little family. “So you don’t forget us,” Stan adds finally, his grin widening to a full and sincere smile. 

Richie doesn’t answer, he can’t. He launches himself into Stan’s arms instead, his fingers digging at his shoulder blades. Stan’s caught off guard, but he quickly reacts and wraps his arms around Richie’s chest, squeezing almost as hard. “Never,” Richie whispers in his ear, a promise. 

When they step back, they both look a little overwhelmed. Crazy to think that, just a few months ago, they had no idea who the other person was. 

The rest of the evening goes by too fast. They drink and play board games and, before Richie realizes it, it’s 1am and he’s smoking on the porch. Stan’s there too, of course. It’s silent, the cool evening air brushing their sweaty faces. When they go back inside, they simply say goodnight to one another and go to bed like every night. Richie’s leaving in less than 6 hours. 

————

XXXIV.

Backstage, Richie almost can’t feel the tip of his fingers. It’s happened to him before, of course; his anxiety always acts up before he has to get on stage, no matter how much he loves being there. He does his best not to think about the way Patty sobbed when she hugged him goodbye, tries not to think about how, when he turned back, he saw Stan and her hugging in their car, tears streaming down both their faces. He tries to, but it’s in vain. The images are seared in his brain. He’ll cry later, he thinks, because right now he needs to perform, needs to make their tears worth it. 

And so he walks on stage, the lights following him while the audience roars, and he gives everything he has. It’s an amazing first show, to be honest. Each joke lands just right and, by the end, the audience is cheering even more than when Richie entered. He’s ecstatic, fucking high from how good this all feels. When he gets off the stage, he immediately grabs his phone to send a sweaty selfie to Patty and Stan. 

Stan the man - Proud of you!!! 

Pattycakes - Eww sweaty! :p

————

XXXV.

He’s in Las Vegas before he even realizes it. It’s his fourth show and, after that, he has a few days to relax and have fun. And it is fun, of course. He gambles (but does his best to stop before he loses too much money), goes out, meets some of his fans. Everything he does is immediately documented on their group chat, even when he’s tipsy and can’t type right. 

Richie - went out w the cree 

Richie - fuck 

Richie - crew 

Stan the man - Yeah Rich, we saw the selfies lol!! Hope you’re having fun. 

Pattycakes - Grizzy says be careful!!

Richie - alwaysss am

Partying in Las Vegas, Richie can only think about the fact that he’s never been here with Stan. He’s been here quite a few times, to be honest (being a comedian in LA has its perks), but never with Stan. He thinks they could’ve come here for Stan’s bachelor party. Did Stan even have a bachelor party? And who the fuck was his best man? Jealousy rises in Richie’s throat because, whoever the best man was, it wasn’t him. His toast would’ve been incredible, too. He could’ve talked about little Stan and all the dumb stuff they used to do together. Or rather, all the dumb stuff Richie did while Stan tried to reason him. And Richie would’ve organized the best bachelor party in history. They could’ve done the whole Hangover thing and lost one of the groomsmen during the night. If they had been with the losers, Richie thinks they probably would’ve lost Bill. Why? He doesn’t really know, it just seems like it would’ve been the case. But it would’ve been a great night, a glorious night… 

“Hey guys,” he talks into his phone. Stan and Patty are sleeping, of course, so he decided to leave them a drunken message. “I hope you’re sleeping well. You probably are, with your healthy sleeping schedule and all that shit. And it must be even better since I’m not here to wake you up in the middle of the night with my nonsense, right? Hm, yeah. Anyway. (Richie sighs, feels the fatigue weighing him down) Just wanted to let y’all know that I love ya. Maybe we could facetime tomorrow. Or, well, today I guess. Fuck, it’s 3am; I’m an old man, I should go to bed. Sleep tight! And kiss Her Majesty for me, please. Byeeeee.” 

They FaceTime a lot, the first few days. Every time Richie has a bit of free time, his first instinct is to see if they do too. They dress Grizzy up and send him pictures, which always makes Richie smile. He talks to them so much that, eventually, the crew starts calling them his parents. “Hey Rich, did ya call your mom and dad yet?” People ask him when he comes back to the tour trailer. He grins, tells them to shut up, and calls Stan and Patty. It’s all in good fun, though. Richie has known most of the crew for a long time, now. And, as they say, it’s the first time he seems this happy. 

And his happiness transpires through his work as well; each performance is better than the previous one. He quickly gets used to the tour lifestyle again. It’s a bit like he never left, to be honest. And that’s a scary thought. 

One day, he realizes he hasn’t called Patty and Stan in three days. And they haven’t called him either. He feels that weird itch again, feels out of place. He takes out his phone. 

Richie - i hope my favorite people are doing good today 

A few minutes pass until: 

Pattycakes - We are!! What about our star? 

Stan the man - Wanna FaceTime tonight? 

Richie - i’m okay

Richie - yes please! call me when you’re free 

And the itch goes away. They talk in the afternoon, before Richie’s fifth show. Patty tells him that Stan bought a collar for Grizzy because she kept going into the neighbors’ gardens. It says « if found, please return to Stanley Uris » and Patty is absolutely mad that Stan thinks Her Majesty is _his_ cat. Richie agrees, of course. Stan does his best to defend himself, argues that Grizzy chose him and they just have to deal with it. They all yell at one another after that, but the call still ends with “Love you” and “See you soon”. 

The next day, Richie’s back on the road. He loves being on the tour bus. Before he found Stan and Patty, this used to be the place where he felt the most at home. And that’s saying a lot, because Richie’s absolutely car sick and, as soon as the bus has to turn, he tastes bile in the back of his throat. But he does his best to stay focused on the road and things go smoothly most of the time. Next to him, Sally’s reading a magazine. He’s so jealous of her. Here she is minding her own business while Richie is obligated to look out the window. He could be on his phone or reading something (a comic, probably, because even as an adult, Richie doesn’t really care about books that don’t have pictures in them), but instead he’s stuck with the landscapes of Nevada. Then, Richie’s reminded of his first meeting with Stan. When he’d arrived at the restaurant, Stan was staring out the window with a smile, his phone face down on the table. He’d always known how to enjoy the little things in life, how to feel fulfilled by the things around him… All of the sudden, looking out the window doesn’t seem so bad. 

————

XXXVI.

Everything goes smoothly until Richie finds himself in Chicago. The itch comes back then, so he calls Stan and thinks that will do the trick. It doesn’t, though. And suddenly, the image of a proud red-haired girl flashes through his mind. _Beverly_. He remembers the articles he read about her: she lives in Chicago. She’s there, somewhere, so close. It makes his whole body shiver. 

It’s especially hard when he’s on stage and he starts his story about that weird little redhead who gave him his first cigarette. He doesn’t really know why but, right after introducing her character, he looks backstage and says, “Could we, huh— Could we turn the lights up? I wanna see how many redheads we’ve got tonight.” 

The audience chuckles, thinking this is a part of the show. But the lights take a while to turn on because the crew had no idea Richie was gonna ask this. He had no idea either, to be honest. He starts scanning the crowd, his hand on top of his squinted eyes, in order to seal the deal. “Meh, just a few,” he smiles as the audience laughs again. She’s not here. Why would she be here? It feels stupid to even think she would be but, lately, a lot of stupid things have come true, so Richie doesn’t really know what to think anymore. The lights turn back off, and the show continues. 

Later that night, in the hotel room, he feels restless. It’s like he’s got to go out and find her. And so he does. He’s walking in the street when he realizes that it’s past 2am and Beverly is probably sound asleep in her bed somewhere. But maybe she isn’t, though, and that’s enough for Richie to keep searching at least a little more. So he goes to a few pubs, walks right out when he doesn’t find any fierce and beautiful redhead in them. Without really realizing it, he’s back in front of his hotel; he must have walked in circles. He takes it as a sign and goes back to bed. In his dream, he’s smoking a cigarette on stage. The venue is empty... until it isn’t. A single light turns on and red hair shines under it. The woman lifts her head and asks Richie for a lighter. When he looks back up at her, she’s on the stage with him. He lights her cigarette, watches her smoke it. When she’s done, she puts it out on the sole of her heels. She asks him if he’s coming, and when he asks where, she tells him they’re going home. 

————

XXXVII.

A few days later, it’s time for his show in Atlanta. He hasn’t had time to see Stan and Patty before the show, so he’ll just have to look for them in the crowd. He notices them as soon as he walks on stage; they’re in the first row. Richie made sure they would get the best seats, of course. Stan’s wearing a suit and it makes him chuckle; what kind of show did he think he was gonna see? This isn’t a Shakespeare play! But the attention warms Richie’s heart anyway. He’s wearing the shirt he bought at the aquarium on his second day in Atlanta. Stan seems to notice it because, as soon as Richie walks on stage, he’s already laughing and shaking his head. If Richie was closer, he might even notice a discreet eye roll. 

“Ladies and gents, I have to say I’ve been looking forward to this particular show. Why, you may ask? Well simply because this is the place where the show was written!” People are making various noises of surprise and Richie nods vehemently. “Yeah, I know. As much as I look like a crazy LA comedian and, _believe me, I am_ , I’ve been living in Atlanta for a few months now. Again, you may wonder why. Well, for that, let me tell you my first story of the night.” The audience cheers again and Richie proceeds to tell the story of how he and Stan met, followed by various anecdotes of their shenanigans. He also talks about being Jewish in rural Maine and about how it felt empowering to find a friend who was too. He narrates all the Hanukkah's he spent at the Urises’s, all the time Stan’s father scolded him. He also thanks Stan for always trying to defend him. And, finally, once he’s done, he pauses for a few seconds and declares, “And, after all you’ve heard about that little freak that I get to call my best friend, I’m proud to announce that he's here tonight.” The audience roars with excitement and Richie notices Stan looking down, a little smirk on his flushed face. Patty is holding his arm, shaking it lightly with a big smile. Richie scratches his throat and continues, “I won’t ask him to come on stage, because he’d probably kill me (Stan nods at this and Richie chuckles lightly), but I just wanted to let y’all know that the show couldn’t exist without his and his wonderful wife’s help.” He looks down at his friends, feels his heart shake when they’re already staring at him with big approving grins. He mouths a quick “Thank you” and he thinks he sees Patty wiping a tear away from her cheek. Finally, he proclaims, “So, ladies and gents, can you please make some noise for Stanley and Patricia Uris-Bloom, please!” And the audience goes wild. Richie screams into the mic, boosting them to cheer even louder. The crew lights up the audience in a dim light and, seeing all these people cheer for his best friends, Richie thinks this is the happiest he’s ever felt. Stan’s holding his face in his hands, but his smile is visible from the stage. He’s shaking his head slightly and Richie remembers all the times he did that when he witnessed Richie doing something incredibly stupid, but funny. He does his best to hold back his tears because he will NOT cry on stage. 

The rest of the show is spectacular, too. It seems like the presence of Stan and Patty makes the audience even more eager to see what will happen next. Or maybe it’s because Richie’s the happiest he’s been all month. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care. 

After the show, Stan and Patty meet Richie backstage. Sally made sure they would be here when Richie left the stage. And his first instinct is to fall into their arms. They catch him, of course, and squeeze him as tightly as they can. Patty is hopping with excitement and Stan doesn’t even seem to care about Richie’s sweat on his clean suit. 

“Fuck, I’m so happy to see you,” he pants. He’s absolutely exhausted, but it’s a good kind of fatigue. 

“Us too, Rich. Seeing you on stage, it was… Fuck, it was incredible.” Stan takes a step back so he can stare into Richie’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you.” And Richie’s sweat starts mixing the tears that roll down his cheeks. 

That night, he doesn’t sleep in a hotel or in the bus, no. He sleeps in _his_ bed, in _his_ home. Grizzy seems happy to see him, too. She momentarily leaves Stan’s side to rub her little face on Richie’s leg. He holds her over his head and she meows.

In a ridiculously high voice, he says, “Her Majesty missed me, huh? Did ya miss your favorite daddy?” 

“Don’t call yourself her daddy, please,” Stan interrupts, taking the cat from Richie’s grip. Grizzy starts purring when she’s pressed against Stan’s chest and Richie’s almost jealous. 

“We got it, Stan! You like the cat and the cat likes you back. No need to rub it in.” 

It’s the best sleep Richie has had in a month. The familiar smell of the Uris’s laundry detergent lulls him into a peaceful sleep and he wakes up well-rested, Her Majesty purring at the foot of the bed. He takes a picture of her so he can prove to Stan that she likes him too. 

Sadly, Richie has to leave that same day. His tour isn’t finished and he still has the whole east coast to perform for. Three more weeks and he’ll be back home, he thinks. Stan and Patty prepared breakfast and they eat together before Richie has to leave. He tells them a few anecdotes from the first few weeks of his tour, but promises he’ll have more when he comes back for good.

His next show is in Florida and his parents come to see him. He hasn’t seen them in a while, so he embraces them when Sally brings them backstage as well. Richie thinks it’s the first time he’s had so many people join him backstage during one of his tours. His parents came to quite a few of his shows, of course. But this feels different. 

“Richie,” Maggie greets him with a soft hand to his sweaty cheek. He closes his eyes and enjoys it for just a second. “This was wonderful, so mature. We loved it.” 

“Yeah?” he smiles. Maggie nods and her smile tells him that she’s proud. 

Went scratches his throat and Richie turns to look at him. “I, for one, missed your trashy jokes. But your mom’s right, Rich. This was amazing. Well done, son.” 

He goes back to their house and they eat together while Richie tells them everything about Stan and Patty. He told his mom about him moving to Atlanta on one of their phone calls, but he never elaborated. 

“It is quite surprising that we just forgot about the Urises, isn’t it?” Maggie agrees when Richie talks about his first meeting with Stan. “We used to see them all the time, back in Derry.” 

“It’s what happens, dear,” Went shrugs, covering his wife’s hand with his. “People move and change and lose touch. But I’m happy for you, Rich, you sound happy.” 

“I am, dad. I really am.” 

“And, now that you’re just a state away, you better come and see your old folks more often, huh?” Went grins and nudges Richie with his elbow. They smile and he nods. Maybe his father’s right, maybe seeing them more often wouldn’t be such a bad thing. As soon as Richie left for college, he only saw his parents on holidays. He felt like he had to build his life alone, away from them. But, lately, Richie has been particularly drawn to the idea of actually having a family… 

“I promise I’ll come more often. I’ll bring Stan and Patty.” 

“Can’t wait to see what a great man Stan became. He always was such a good kid.” 

————

XXXVIII.

The second half of his tour is almost even better than the first. It’s like seeing Stan and Patty and his parents rejuvenated him, and now he has even more energy to bring to his shows. An oasis in the middle of the desert. 

His last show is in New York. 

Just like it had in Chicago, the itch comes back. Stronger, louder. It resonates in his skull like a grave echo. _Eddie lives here, Eddie lives here, Eddie lives here._ It makes it hard to breathe and, before going on stage, his anxiety is even more painful than it normally is. His fingers are numb his face tingles unpleasantly. 

But the show goes fine anyway. It’s not his best, but people are laughing and cheering and that’s enough for him. Talking about the losers feels weird when he feels so close to one of them. Where could Eddie be, right now? Analyzing risks, Richie thinks with a chuckle. 

He starts the story about how he had a crush when he was a kid and, whatever dumb shit he did, it was always to catch said crush’s attention. The story had always been simple to tell, in his previous shows, effortless. He was careful not to give away the gender of the crush, but otherwise, he could tell it without even thinking about it. Because talking with or about Eddie had always been like that, simple. But, this time, he has a hard time making his sentence coherent. 

“And I never told my crush about how I felt.” The audience sighs at that, little noises of complaints rising through the crowds. Richie smiles, “I know, I know. But I was young and confused and can a child really understand what love is, you know?” He feels it deep in his skin, in his being. That love he felt, maybe still feels… It consumes him. He feels hot and heavy and if he had a chair he would plop down on it. Of course, he’s still in love with Eddie! He didn’t have any time to get over it, since he simply forgot about him. And now that he remembers, it’s like everything is fresh. The memory of Eddie’s thigh against his own is vivid in his mind. Of course, he’s still in love with Eddie… Something rises in his gut, reaches his throat. Richie squeezes the mic in his hand with a newfound ambition. “A child that age can’t really understand why it’s wrong to be in love with his best friend, why older boys call him a faggot… So yeah, I never told my crush that I loved him.” 

The crowd is silent for just a second before little gasps can be heard. Richie half expects them to start booing him, but they don’t. They cheer. They cheer louder than any audience Richie has ever been in front of. He hears “I love you” and “Hell yeah” being screamed by various people. What had risen in his throat earlier suddenly explodes and his heart starts beating so fast he wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like. A tear rolls down his cheek and, as the cheering calms down, he catches it and continues, “Yeah, so that’s what it’s like to be a queer kid in rural Maine. You don’t really know what’s wrong with you, but people keep reminding you that you’re different.” Another applause and Richie suddenly realizes what he’s just done. “Fuck, did I really just come out to you guys?” A nervous chuckle escapes his lips and the audience imitates him, but their laughs are sincere. 

The rest of the show is mostly improv, because now that the cat’s out of the bag, Richie doesn’t really want to talk about anything else. He tells his audience about how Stan had always known, and about how he used to roll his eyes at them. He talks about how bullies pushed him to think there was something wrong with him, about how he felt trapped in his own mind. He could barely touch his friends in public, because he was scared people would know, then. All his trashy jokes, crude and stupid humor, everything he could do to distance himself from his truth. He laughs that, hey, at least he got to make a living out of it! The audience is quiet, alert. They’re hanging to his every word and, even if they’re not laughing as much, this feels good too. He feels heard and respected, and it’s quite a new and exciting feeling. 

When he’s done, there’s a heavy pause. It’s like the world starts moving again around him. People get out of the trance he had put them in, wake up. And so does he; the adrenaline slowly dissipating and letting him alone with the scary truth of his _very public_ coming out. But the crowd stands up and starts cheering again. It’s a freaking standing ovation, and Richie can’t believe what he’s seeing. His last show, the end of a chapter but the start of a new one, apparently. He bows dramatically and laughter joins the applause. 

“Well, folks, thank you for coming to this show, the last show of the tour. You’ve been an incredible audience and I think the title was right, huh? (Richie gestures to the banner on top of the stage, where the poster of his tour is shining) This shit did get quite personal!” People laugh again and keep on clapping. “I would like to thank the whole crew for making this possible, my manager Sally Dennis, our producer Martin Lee, and my mom for giving birth to me. Thank you, New York!” He bows again, and again, and the applause doesn't seem to stop. 

Without talking into the mic, he screams, “To the losers!” into the cheering crowd. Nobody hears him except the front row, maybe. That part is just for him, just for them. 

When he goes backstage, he’s expecting Sally to jump on him with questions and concerns and a whole lot of _what the fuck Richie_. But no. She just smiles, hugs him, and says she’s proud of him. 

“This was a great show,” she adds with a smirk. “Maybe your best one yet.” 

“I think so too.” 

Later, his phone buzzes with texts and alerts and a whole lot of things. He opens The Three Musketeers group chat first, of course. Stan sent him a tweet saying « guys omg i went to Richie Tozier’s show in NY and the dude LITERALLY CAME OUT??? I looked it up and apparently, it wasn’t a bit because it wasn’t part of his other shows djhfiurskfj. we stan Richie Tozier now ».

Stan the Man - Rich? Wanna talk about it?

Pattycakes - We’re supporting you no matter what!!!

Richie - im actually okay

Richie - i’ll call you later, yeah? 

Stan the Man - Sounds good. We love you. 

Stan the Man - I’m proud of you. <3

Pattycakes - Yes!!! Can’t wait to see you. 

A quick search on Twitter lets him know that the tweet Stan sent isn’t the only one. He scrolls through them: « GUYS GUYS GUYS i just witnessed a grown man coming out on stage???? I went to Richie Tozier’s show with my parents and he came out in the middle of the show and proceeded to talk about his childhood crush for the rest of the hour lmao », « people are talking about Richie Tozier coming out, wtf??? i was at his show in Phoenix and he didn’t talk about being queer for one second? », « just heard a 40 years old man talk about his gay childhood crush for an hour and i am so soft, wow love is real », « are we sure Richie Tozier’s coming out isn’t some kind of sick joke? that dude would be capable of doing that just fyi » and so on. 

Sally knocks on the door of the bus tour, and Richie tells her to come in. They’re leaving New York tomorrow morning. She looks slightly nervous and Richie swallows his saliva and gets ready for whatever is coming. 

“I’m proud of you, Rich.” 

“Did you know?” he asks without adding anything else, because they both know what they’re talking about. 

“I didn’t, no. But I started having doubts when I read your new stuff. At first, I thought that Stan was your gay awakening and that’s why you’d left to live with him… But, given I’ve met _his wife,_ I don’t think that’s it.” She pauses, and before Richie can answer, she continues, “Although I wouldn’t judge you; you’ve got hot friends, Richard.” He smiles and nods in response. But Sally’s smile quickly fades and Richie knows the real reason she came here isn’t to congratulate him on his coming out. “I’m proud of you,” she repeats, “but we’ve got something to do. We can’t let the rumors get wild or anything. So, if you wanna do this for real, you gotta make a statement or whatever.” 

“Yeah, I hadn’t really thought about that, to be honest. It just… I couldn’t keep it in anymore.” 

“I know. And if you wanna back out and make some excuses about how this was all a stupid joke, I’ll respect that. But your fans might not. And I think it’s time to finally be yourself… Don’t you?” 

“Yeah, Sal. I think so too.” 

“I’m here if you need any help.” 

“I think I’ll manage.” 

Sally puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it softly, a tender smile on her lips. She exits the bus, leaving Richie alone with his spiraling thoughts and a newfound sense of identity. 

After a long facetime with Stan and Patty, a lot of tears, and one or two breakdowns, Richie finally tweets: « if you were at my NY show, you already know this, but I wanted to make an official statement (cause my manager told me to and i listen to her). sooo i’m coming out. yup, i’m the bisexual icon you all have been waiting for! but i’d like it if you could respect my privacy. <3 »

It’s already the next morning when Richie realizes that the news must’ve reached his parents now… He wants to call but is too nervous. Thankfully, his mom is the one to call first. 

“Hey, Maggie. I guess you heard the news?” 

“Stop calling me Maggie, young man. I’m your mom and you know I hate when you call me that!” Richie chuckles lightly, but he’s too anxious to really enjoy the running joke. Giving nicknames to the people he loves has always been Richie’s favorite hobby. Maggie continues, “And what news are you talking about, huh? This is barely any news for me! I’m just glad _you_ finally realized it too.” 

“You knew?” 

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I tried to let you know that it was okay when you were young, but I guess I should’ve been more open about it. I’m sorry you had to wait this long.” 

Richie can’t answer; his throat is closed by the tears he’s holding back. He listens to his mom apologizing and congratulating for a few more minutes and, when he’s finally able to swallow his tears, he whispers, “Thank you, mom.” 

“I’m proud of you.” 

“Weirdly, a lot of people are, lately.” 

“You deserve it.” 

“What about dad? Is he okay? Did he know too?” Richie’s lips quiver a little, like a scared kid who’s afraid to disappoint his father. And maybe he is. 

“Your father had no ideas; he’s oblivious to this kind of stuff. But he's just as proud as I am, Richie. We both love you, so much.”

“I love you too, mom,” he says in a broken voice. He hasn’t said that to his parents in a long time, he thinks. Sure he probably said a few “love you” here and there, but it’s been a long time since he actually told them that he loved them and wholeheartedly meant it. Saying it while being completely himself feels new, sincere. And, more importantly, it feels good. 

When he gets back to Atlanta a few days later, so many emotions rush through him. Because, not only is he going home, he’s also going home while being openly himself. And that’s the first time he’s ever felt that way. Stan and Patty are waiting for him, of course. They baked cookies and put up a “Welcome back” banner in the living room. Stan even found what was left of the weed Richie’s bought and a (messily rolled) joint is waiting for him on the coffee table. 

“Fuck guys, this is perfect,” he sighs happily, letting his bag hit the floor and running into his friends’ arms. Patty jumps and links her hands behind his neck, so Stan settles for a little side hug. 

They smoke the joint first, of course, and then eat all the cookies in one sitting. Her Majesty purrs around them and Stan takes a bag of little cat snacks he bought and feeds her. He’s so proud to show Richie how he taught her to stand on her hind legs to reach the treat. Richie says he’ll take her on his next tour and she can be his first act. 

“Yeah, we’ll talk about your next show some other time,” Patty interrupts, “For now, you’re home.” 

————

XXXIX.

The routine they’d found before Richie left for his tour comes back pretty quickly. It feels pleasant, surprisingly refreshing. He feels like he lives in a fucking sitcom from how happy and fun everything is. He even starts doing puzzles with Stan, for fuck’s sake! He doesn’t know how, but Stan actually manages to make puzzles kind of fun… If his younger self would see him now, he would be fucking astonished. In honor of his troublemaking days, he decides to steal a piece of the enormous puzzle they just started. He stores it in his wallet, behind the picture of the three of them. He might forget it when Stan actually needs the piece to complete the picture, but it’s funny so he does it anyway. 

“We should go on vacation,” Patty declares when she comes into the living room. She sits down next to them and continues, “Like, go somewhere sunny and warm this fall.” 

“Why not, babylove,” Stan smiles, “Did you have a destination in mind?” 

“Not sure. I just want a change of scenery, you know? I feel like we deserve it.” 

“Don’t worry guys,” Richie replies, “I’ll take care of the house and Her Majesty while you’re away.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re obviously coming with us, dummy.” 

Richie really hadn’t thought of that, and he’s taken aback a little. Patty wants him to come on holidays with them? He tries to control the surprised smile on his face. Stan nods, indicating that he wants Richie to come too. He gently bites the inside of his cheeks to make sure he’s not dreaming. 

“Alright,” he chuckles. “Fuck— Yeah, sure, let’s do it.” 

They all giggle a little, excited by the idea of a well-deserved vacation. They brainstorm ideas and end up deciding it’ll either be Greece or Spain. Richie would pretty much agree to anything, to be honest. He’d go to the fucking North Pole if it was with Stan and Patty. 

Everyday, they all leave little notes on the fridge about something they’d like to see in each country. Stan collects them all so they can finally make a choice. After a long and thoughtful discussion, Greece it is! 

They’re already planning the trip even though they’ve got months before it actually arrives. Richie suggests that they could just be spontaneous and see what they want to see when they arrive there, and Patty laughs at his face and asks if he knows Stan at all. And it’s true: after just a few weeks, he has a whole schedule already perfectly planned out. Richie doesn’t mind, though. Of course he doesn’t mind! Fuck he gets to go on a trip with his best friends and he has nothing to prepare or book by himself. It’s gonna be absolutely perfect. 

Patty marks the date on which they decided to leave on the calendar in the kitchen. She circles it three times and, in bold and capital letters, writes « FAMILY TRIP ». 

Richie can’t wait. 

————

XXXX.

But then something changes. 

Richie’s smoking on the front porch alone. Stan would’ve joined him, but he’s finishing a puzzle and is way too focused to even notice Richie going out (and he might be focused for a while since Richie stole the last piece of the puzzle). His phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He holds the cigarette between his lips and struggles with the jacket Stan lent him. He doesn’t recognize the number, but the caller ID indicates “Derry, Maine” and it’s enough to make Richie drop his cigarette. 

“Hello, Richie. This is Mike.” 

“Mike. Mike Hanlon?”

“Wow,” the familiar voice chuckles, “you’re the first one who actually remembers me.” 

“I’m with Stan, Stan Uris,” Richie points out as if it explains anything (and, to be honest, he really feels like it does). 

“Oh, I see.” Mike seems to agree. After a little pause, he continues, “Well, Richie, I think it’s time you came home.” 

Mike continues to talk, but Richie barely listens. He wants to, but the ringing in his ears is getting louder and louder and his memories are getting messier and messier. Everything starts to click into place; a broken arm because of a fall, a bandage around Stan’s head because of an attack, a scar he’d forgotten about because of a blood pact. The memories he’s been remembering for the last few months seem to be pieces of a puzzle that suddenly makes sense. Every blurry memory now fits into a precise chronology. The Losers, united because of a demonic entity that took Georgie Denborough when they were kids… 

Richie hears himself mutter a distant, “Okay, Mike. I’ll get back to you. Bye,” before running out of the Uris’s perfectly flowered front porch. He knows he’s about to puke, and he respects Patty’s awesome gardening too much to do it in her color-coded flowerbeds. Thankfully, he’s able to reach the street before his whole dinner threatens to come back up. The whole world is spinning around him. Everything feels so far away, yet every sound and every light makes his brain hurt. He lets himself fall to the ground against the lamppost he just puked next to. He can’t breathe, can’t move. His fingers curl on themselves, every muscle in his hands sending painful flashes through his arms. He feels like thousands of needles are poking his cheeks. He knows those feelings way too well, but he hasn’t had a full-on panic attack in a while and this feels like such a big step back in his continuous progress… He does his best to remember the few coping mechanisms he learned. He tries to ground himself to the world around him, notes that he can feel the breeze on his face, taste the cigarette smoke on his tongue, and hear the traffic from a few streets away. He rubs his hands against his jeans, feeling the texture of them and doing his best to focus on it. 

Finally, he also whispers, “I’m home,” over and over to himself, because he’s pretty sure this will be the most grounding thing of them all. Eventually, it works. He almost feels hungover from how sudden it all was. When he’s finally back to a somewhat normal state, he stands up on wobbly legs and walks back in. 

“Where’s Stan?” he asks when he finds Patty alone in the living room. She looks up and her smile drops instantly. 

“Richie are you okay?” She walks towards him, the back of her hand instinctively resting on his forehead to see if he’s feverish. He must be pretty pale, yeah. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry, I’ll explain later,” he says too quickly, before repeating, “Where’s Stan?” 

“He told me he was going to take a bath,” she shrugs. 

“We have a bath?” 

“Yeah, in our en-suite.” 

“You guys have an en-suite?” 

Patty laughs and Richie is momentarily distracted from the life-changing phone call he just received. How the fuck didn’t he know that they had an en-suite and a bath? All the bubble baths he didn’t take, all the missed opportunities… 

He shakes it off and goes upstairs. When he knocks on Stan and Patty’s bedroom door, he doesn’t get an answer. He knocks again, calls for Stan, and finally decides to walk in. Stan’s nowhere to be found, but he can hear water flowing behind another closed door. This must be the famous yet secret en-suite, he thinks. 

“Stan?” he calls while gently knocking at the door. “Stan I have something to talk to you about. It’s important.” 

The water stops, and the room is filled with complete silence instead. 

“Stan,” Richie calls again, a little more desperate. He needs to talk to Stan about this, needs his support. He can almost feel another panic attack slowly rising in him. 

Suddenly it hits him and he asks, “Did Mike call you too?” He thinks he hears something on the other side of the door, but he doesn’t really understand what. A sob, maybe? Maybe Stan’s puking too. Or even having a panic attack. Richie doesn’t care; he’d rather have a breakdown next to his friend than alone in the next room. But maybe Stan isn’t like that, maybe he’d rather be alone right now. So Richie decides to sit on the edge of the perfectly made bed. He clears his throat and confesses, “I’m so scared, Stanny. Fuck, how did we— I just don’t understand. How could we forget it, you know? Even that scar, man. It’s been there this whole time, why didn’t I ask myself where it came from?” The silence feels cold when Richie stops talking. He stands up again and quietly goes to the door, rests his forehead against it. “Stan, I don’t want to go through this alone... can I please come in? I know you probably need some alone time, but I don’t and I swear I’m about to have another fucking panic attack.” 

There’s another long and painful silence, but finally, there’s some movement in the bathroom. He thinks maybe Stan will come out, so he takes a step back. But, after a few seconds, still nothing. 

“Stan, you’re scaring me. Please say something.” 

Richie has to put his ear next to the door but, finally, he hears it:

“Richie,” Stan’s calling in a weak voice, over and over again. And that’s enough to set all of Richie’s alarms off. He promptly lowers the doorknob, but it doesn’t budge. He tastes bile at the back of his throat while he bangs against the door. He takes a deep breath and a few steps back, and kicks the door as hard as he can. It doesn’t open on the first try, but the second kick does the trick and he runs into the room. 

What greets him inside makes his blood turn cold. Everything’s red and wet and horrible. The whole bathroom seems tainted. And, in the middle of this vision of horrors, he finds Stan, floating in a bloody bathtub filled to the brim. The adrenaline takes over his anxiety as he leaps towards Stan. He cradled his face, afraid of what he’ll find in his friend’s eyes. When he calls his name, his eyelids open weakly and a few tears roll down his wet face. Richie wipes them away instinctively. 

“You’ll be okay, you’re okay. I got you. Stan, please, just hang on,” Richie trembles as he looks around him to find a towel. He reaches into the dark water to link his hands behind Stan’s back, lifts him from the bathtub, and lays him gently on the bath mat. He takes a towel and wraps it around his friend’s wrist, squeezes as hard as he can. 

“I’m sorry,” Stan cries gently, a bitter smile on his white lips. But Richie doesn’t listen; he doesn’t want Stan’s apology. He wants him, alive. So he doesn’t listen and stays focused on his task. 

Suddenly remembering where he is and that he’s not alone, he yells Patty’s name as hard as he can and hears her quick footsteps coming up the stairs. A scream quickly echoes behind him, and he feels sorry that Patty had to see this. He stands up and holds her shoulders to make her focus on him instead of her husband. “Call an ambulance,” he orders. She nods and he realizes that he got blood on her cardigan. 

“You hear that, Stan?” he keeps on saying when he’s back by his friend’s side. “You’re gonna be fine, huh? The ambulance will be here soon. In the meantime, I’ve got you.” He takes a second towel and wraps it around the other wrist, does his best not to start sobbing. And he squeezes Stan’s forearms as hard as he possibly can, worrying he’ll actually hurt him more than he already hurt himself. He thinks about the last few months, about all the times Stan witnessed him breaking down and helped him up. And now it’s his time… And he’s absolutely terrified. “I can’t— I absolutely can’t lose you, do you hear? You’re not fucking allowed to die.” 

A sad smile stretches Stan’s lips as he looks absentmindedly at Richie. Dark circles are forming around his eyes and Richie doesn’t like the look of them, doesn’t like how pale Stan’s face is getting. Thankfully, he hears a siren in the background and Patty screaming in the street. 

“I’m sorry, Richie,” Stan whispers again.

“Don’t be. The ambulance is here, Stan. Okay? You’ll be fine. We’ll go through this together. It has to be this way; I can’t do this without you.” Richie’s crying now. He lets his forehead rest against Stan’s, even if his tears fall onto his already wet cheeks. 

When the medics enter the small bathroom, everything blurs around Richie. He wonders if he’s the one dying, for a second. But then he opens his eyes and sees Stan covered in his own blood. He crawls after the stretcher that’s taking his best friend away, cries as he slips on the bloodied floor. He hears Patty tell him to come in the ambulance with her, that she can’t do it alone. Absentmindedly, Richie stands up and follows her like a ghost, her hand guiding him through the halls that constitute their home. He doesn’t really know how they get to the hospital, his eyes stay firmly focused on Stan. He’s afraid he’ll disappear if he dares close his eyelids, so he does his best not to, tears of exhaustion joining the broken-hearted ones. Patty’s crying against him; he wrapped her in his arms as soon as they sat in the ambulance. 

When he blinks, they’re in a waiting room, other people staring at his bloodied clothes and probably wondering what horrible thing must have happened to him. They have no idea… No idea that Richie’s world is falling down around him, that he’s living in his own personal apocalypse, and that these strangers are witnessing it. 

He blinks again and he’s in a bathroom, his reflection scary and foreign. He doesn’t recognize his face, carved by grief and shock and covered in blood. It’s starting to dry and it creates unpleasant scabs all over Richie’s skin and clothes. He leans down and splashed some water on his face without really thinking about it. The blood doesn’t go away. He’s scared it’ll never go away. 

Another blink and he’s back in the dead waiting room. Everything feels cold and unfamiliar, except Patty whose head is resting on his shoulder. She interlaced their fingers and Richie’s afraid he’ll crush her tiny hand if he keeps squeezing it as hard as he is. Time seems to have stopped around them. 

Richie didn’t realize he closed his eyes and, when he opens them again, Patty’s gone. He looks around him and jumps up. She comes back into the room, a tired smile on her lips. 

“Is he…” Richie breathes, his throat hurting from the effort it demands. 

“He’s alive.” 

She leads Richie inside the room and he sees Stan in the big white bed. His wrists are covered in already bloodied bandages and his face is drained of all color, but the machines around him are beeping and Richie figures it’s a good sign. He starts crying again then. Partly because he’s incredibly exhausted, but also because he’s relieved. He had to imagine a world without Stan and it almost killed him, but at least he won’t have to live in said-world. Patty passes a comforting hand up and down his back, a few tears rolling down her own cheeks. His tears wet the bed sheets he’s firmly holding. Stan is still unconscious so Richie allows himself to cry as loud and as dramatically as he wants because he needs to get it all out. 

Patty’s gone to get them something to drink when Stan finally opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Richie, holding his foot. 

“Why are you holding my foot?” he breathes in a raspy voice. Richie jerks up, his eyes going wide and the grip on his friend’s foot tightening just a little. 

“I wanted to hold your hand but I was scared I would hurt you,” he answers, his throat too sore for it to be nothing more than a whisper. Stan smiles and his hand moves towards Richie, beckoning him to come closer. So, slowly, Richie slips his hand in Stan’s. He’s shocked by how cold he is but decides to say nothing. 

“Richie,” Stan begins, his bloodshot eyes filling with tears, “I’m so sorry, I—“

“You don’t have to be.” 

“Will you just—,” Stan interrupts, his voice breaking a little, “Will you just let me talk, please?” Richie nods quietly. “I was scared. So scared I thought you guys would be better off without me. I knew It would feed off my fear and I would be nothing but a burden to you.” Richie screams internally, wants to grab Stan by the shoulders and shake him. Yet, he stays painfully silent and Stan lets a tear roll down his cheek before continuing, “But you were right. I won’t be doing this alone, and neither will you. None of us will be alone, right? Losers stick together.” 

“Losers stick together,” Richie repeats softly. He feels Stan squeeze his finger just a little and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

“Thank you for saving me.”

“Stan, of course I did, what—“ 

“Not tonight.” 

Richie stops talking abruptly. Maybe he should just shut up until Stan tells him he’s allowed to talk again, he thinks. He raises his brows in a silent question, and Stan continues, “Thank you for saving me, six months ago, when you reached out when I was too confused to do so. I think that I remembered more about our childhood than you did, yet you’re the one who was brave enough to make the first move. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. You saved my life the moment you came back in it.” 

“Fuck,” is the only thing Richie’s able to breathe before breaking down, sobs clogging his throat. He clings to Stan’s hand as delicately as he can manage. And to think he’d thought he had cried all his tears before Stan woke up…! 

Patty comes back, then. She drops the water bottle as soon as her eyes set on her husband. She leaps towards him, wraps her fingers against his free hand, kisses his fingers with a shaky breath. And Richie steps back, deciding he needs to give them some space. He watches Stan’s hand painfully reaching for his wife’s cheek. 

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry you had to go through this.” 

“Stan, honey, I was so scared. I’m so relieved you’re alive. Why would you do that? What was wrong?” Patty’s voice is shaky, scared. Richie wants to wrap her up in a big warm hug. 

“I’ve got a lot to explain, I know.” 

Richie almost reached the door of the room when Stan gestures for him to stop, so he does. 

“I’ll explain everything, I swear,” Stan promises, Patty pressing her cheek against his cold fingers. “But, I’m here now and I’m fine and I just… could we just enjoy some family time?” 

Richie’s knees almost give out. Patty turns back to grab his hand and lead him to the chair next to hers. He sits, still too overwhelmed to really react, and wraps an arm around Patty’s shoulders. She leans against him, not minding his bloodied shirt.

Richie doesn’t know where they’re supposed to go from here, but he knows one thing for sure: as long as he’s with his family, he’ll be alright. Stan might say that Richie saved his life, but he returned the favor more than once since then. Whatever the world throws at them, Richie suddenly feels confident in his ability to take it. 

So they’ll be alright. 

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo if some people actually read through all that... Hi! Did you like it? I would love to hear some reviews. I'm so happy I finally got to share this fic, which is really close to my heart. I'm not sure if this will get a second chapter, but I definitely have some ideas if some people are interested. Thank you for reading.


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